Take me away to the dark side
by Isolith
Summary: Post season 3. The Major Crimes division sets out to solve a double homicide. The murders soon turn out to be more than simple. Meanwhile, friendships blossom and hearts align. Ensemble fic. Crime/dark/gore/romance. ON HIATUS for the moment.
1. Prologue

**/Take Me Away to the Dark Side/**

_Summary:_ Post season 3. The Major Crimes division sets out to solve a double homicide. The murders soon turn out to be more than simple. Meanwhile, friendships blossom and hearts align. Ensemble fic. Crime/dark/gore/romance.

_Disclaimer:_ Major Crimes and the characters belong to James Duff.

...

**Prologue**

**21st August 2013**

**Los Angeles**

_What is time without a beginning?_

…

Melinda Gareth, pristine in a navy blue swimsuit, sauntered onto the new deck adjourned to her house. The late night lay cocooned in the scorching heat from the day and the tiles of her deck were still warm to touch. The preceding days had been like a sweltering oven, a heatwave of Sahara proportions enclosing Los Angeles.

Melinda's house was up hill with an exclusive view of the city, it lay between a cluster of priced housing and a generous splatter of palm trees obscuring the neighbors to the south. From the spacious living room, glass doors opened up wide to the new veranda and the tiled deck that led to the swimming pool.

The moon was clear in the night sky. It hung low on the horizon, full and proud, a tinge to its shine that reminded Melinda of the starry stickers she used to plaster on her ceiling as a child. The city threw the night into an orange hue, brightening what would otherwise constitute complete darkness. Nighttime in a large metropolis was different than the darkness outside city limits; less frightening on the surface.

The night sky was devoid of clouds and the clear view was comforting.

The swimming pool drew her gaze, the image of moonshine shimmering on the surface. Its light illuminated half the pool, the other half was dark and formless where trees threw their shadows. Melinda strode forward, a towel in hand that she deposited on one of the sun chairs along with her phone and a bottle of chilled water from the refrigerator. She pushed her hair up and knotted it in a bun at the back of her head.

She stopped at the edge of the pool, her toes just on the brink of the warm tile. She stretched, tilted her head back and blew out a long breath.

Working a twenty-four hour shift messed with the muscles in her back and neck. They were tense and all knotted up, aching from standing upright and from striding at a fast pace to and fro all day. Swimming laps would help; the ease of the water would help her muscles relax, would take her mind off things and cool her down.

The water would be fresh.

Cool.

It was what had gotten her through her shifts at the hospital, and the warm climate with the humid winds.

Melinda dove in headfirst.

For a short second, as she glided through the water, slick and cool, it was bliss.

Then it was agony.

Her eyes fluttered open under water, the pain unbearable. It stung and the pain crept in through her closed eyelids when she tried to keep them shut. Her skin felt aflame by the time she took the first stroke under water. By the time she resurfaced, it was gnawing into her skin, burning and boiling beneath it.

The pain stung her lips, boiling inside her mouth, and she sputtered as gulps of water slid down her throat.

By the time she reached the edge of the pool and managed to crawl up and out of the water, she was on all fours gasping for breath. The insides of her throat burned and her skin itched. It burned and burned, going deeper into her skin.

Her phone lay on the sun chair furthest from the pool.

She tried to crawl to it, her stomach in uproar. When she reached the first sun chair, her stomach contracted and she ended up, arms slung out for support, dry heaving what little was in her stomach. It splattered on the deck; bits of tarnished bread, yellow bile and fresh spots of red blood. She kept gagging and vomit ran down her chin, the metallic taste of blood poignant.

Melinda reached for her small rectangular phone but it fell from her grasp, her fingers tensing up and unable to hold onto anything. She likened it to a spasm, the way it felt, and the way it crawled through her body and left her immobilized. She felt drained of all energy and she sank down, the warm tiles of her deck cool against her burning face.

Out of her periphery vision, she noticed a shadow by the entrance to her house. The shadow moved past her, the sound of rush of clothes was loud near her ears. The figure bent down by the sun chair and picked up the water bottle.

The figure then kneeled by her side and offered her the bottled water. Melinda gulped down the offered water, hoping it would rid her of the stinging pain in her throat.

It only worsened the pain.

It was not water in the bottle. It was the same substance that was in her pool; foul-tasting, stinging and vomit-inducing.

Her body convulsed in pain, trying to get the liquid out again.

The shadow moved away and picked up her phone, for a short, sweet moment Melinda thought the person was going to call an ambulance. But the dark-clothed figure, lithe and tall with no discernable features, only stared back at her, face hidden by the cowl of a black sweatshirt. The figure observed her for a long beat, shadows moving and clearing part of the lower face. There was slight stubble and long thin lips that parted into a malicious smile, noticeable white teeth.

The creep held out her phone and it fell to the deck, loud clang against the tiles, the cover most likely broken. A boot kicked her phone and she heard it scatter across the tiles and land with a plop sound in the pool.

Melinda tried to reach out, tried to grasp for the black material of trousers the figure wore, but the stranger was just out of reach.

"Help me, please," she managed to sputter, her throat raw and bleeding. It was painful to speak, to breathe, but she had to, her voice low and raspy, "please…"

Her breathing sounded ragged, her vision veiled when she tried to open her eyes. She felt hazy and tired, dizzy and short of breath. Her stomach was knotted up in pain, her insides, mouth, throat and esophagus burned, a pain that seemed to worsen with every moment. Powerless, helpless, fear sprung forth within her, welled up under her skin and blocked out every other thought.

She tried to speak again, the half-gasped 'help' only sounding like a guttural squeak when it left her mouth.

The figure simply squatted down and stared.

…


	2. Part 1

**21th****Marts 2015**

**Saturday**

**Los Angeles**

_What moves in the depth of darkness? Part 1_

…

"I never would have taken you for one to get lost in thought watching a storm," Andy Flynn murmured close to Sharon Raydor's ear. The low rumble of his voice tingled against the skin of her ear, his breath warm in contrast to the onslaught of wind.

"I bet you are a sucker for those weather channels, huh?"

Sharon hid her smile in the collar of the warm leather jacket Andy had offered her when they had made their way out from the restaurant. The leather had a calming smell, an earthy sort of scent, mixed with the perfume of Andy's aftershave. It ensnared her senses.

The end of the month was underlined by a fickle nature, the always changing weather making it impossible to gather whether a light coat would suffice or not. It made her extra grateful for Andy's chivalry of offering his jacket to her. She felt the stress of the preceding months fade in the company of Andy. Sharon had a sneaking suspicion it had been his plan all along; to make her forget about Philip Stroh roaming the countryside in God only know where, free and on the run. The thought still chilled her to bone.

It was approaching midnight and the night sky was obscured by bouldering clouds and a hint of lightning in the air. The wind blew in from the west, bringing with it the salty scent from the nearby ocean. She could hear the waves crashing against the shore in uproar. The restaurant, remote and alone, on the beach front offered illumination from hanging lanterns on the outside terrace. The narrow trail that led to the parking lot was likewise lit by lanterns, a soft low light that barely breached the darkness.

The restaurant was famous for its view and seafood cuisine. This night Sharon had watched the coalescing clouds on the horizon, the changing color and the motion with which the storm had blown them inland. She had felt mesmerized by the view. There was something entrancing about watching a storm take shape, to look at the horizon where the sky split from the ocean and to watch it blur and become one.

That the evening was in company with a good and trusted friend, and a big pan of seafood paella, made it even more memorable. There was something about tonight she would cherish in hindsight. Something that impelled her to walk just a tiny bit closer to the man by her side, their arms linked as they strolled toward the parking lot and Andy's Crown Vic.

The small trail wound up through the sand dunes and then on the other side, near a neighborhood of summerhouses, it led to a small parking lot. There was only the Crown Vic left on the lot. It was on the top of the dune that Sharon had lingered, turning to face the storm out at sea. Being arm in arm, Andy had stopped with her, looking at her as she gazed far out over the dark ocean, her hair whipped around by strong gusts of wind. The black surface of the water was every now and then illuminated by a flash of lightning, the roar of thunder far away.

The sand was wet from newly fallen rain, and the temperature had dropped significantly from the sunny and warm afternoon hours before the storm.

"If I had known," Andy continued with laughter in his voice, "I would have watched Twister with you, or something."

Sharon turned her head, an answering smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Andy was staring at her with an amused expression, his eyes appeared as dark as the depth of a bottomless well.

"I am not lost in storm watching," Sharon replied holding back a laugh, "I am simply enjoying the scenery."

"At midnight?" Andy arched an eyebrow, "It's pitch black. And cold. Not a lot to enjoy."

Yet Andy Flynn looked out over the sea in imitation of her, a smile on his lips that told another story.

Sharon turned her gaze back to the ocean. It was the howling of the wind and the waves crashing against the shore that had caught her attention. And it was the fresh breeze of cold salt water against her face and the stark contrast of a lightning strike illuminating everything in the darkness that had kept her attention.

Sharon felt Andy lean closer, from a distance their figures would take the appearance of two people embracing and yet she did not think much of it. Up close, it felt nice to stand close to him, he radiated warmth.

She felt his breath before he spoke, close to the side of her face.

"You want me to get you an umbrella?" he asked, his voice tinged by uncertainty, "or a coat?"

Sharon laughed and she turned around to see him, her head tilting slightly back since she had foregone the usual heels for boots. The easy smile to his mouth was contagious, his eyes once again centered on her.

"Are you afraid of a little rain, Andy? Or is it the dark you don't like?" she smirked.

"Nah, I like the dark," he grinned back at her, "It's my shoes; they're not water resistant."

Sharon hummed and looked down at his feet; the suede shoes were definitely not weather appropriate.

When she looked up again, Andy had taken an even closer step to her. His hands fell around her elbows and then slid down to her bare wrists before he turned her hands around and enveloped them between his own. His hands were warm, slightly sweaty, and there was a distinct impression of nervousness about him suddenly. A definite line to his mouth she had come to know over the years – an apprehensive smile – and an almost questioning look in his eyes.

Sharon could not help but lean closer to him too, pondering what made him nervous.

She was met by silence, his mouth slightly parting before he resolutely closed it again.

When Sharon inclined her head and waited for him to speak, he only shrugged and then leaned close and deposited a small, chaste kiss to her cheek.

"I had a wonderful time tonight," Andy told her after the kiss.

Sharon was positive it was not what he had meant to say.

She hummed around a smile, agreeing with him and letting whatever he had wanted to say go.

The smirk came back to his expression and all impressions of nervousness seemed to flutter away. "Next time I'll remember to bring my Wellingtons."

Sharon laughed.

Andy chuckled with her and then with a nod in the direction of his car, they made their way down towards the parking lot. The gusts of wind diminished in strength in cover by the dune.

"Let's go for ice cream," Andy grinned boyishly at her once they reached the gravel of the parking lot.

Sharon shook her head in amusement, "You don't think it's too cold for ice cream, hmm?" she teased, her head giving a small nod towards the cold ocean.

Andy turned to regard her, walking backwards, a smug look on his face that clearly stated she was insane for even suggesting such a thing, "Nah, silly," he shook his head, "It's never too cold for ice cream. I used to eat ice cream while ice-skating during the winter in New Jersey. It's appropriate year round. "

Sharon smiled at his silliness, the utter joy on his face and the light from the nearby lanterns that made his smile appear askew.

"Ice cream it is then," she agreed with a nod, "…as long as coffee is served as well."

"My place has plenty of coffee," he half-suggested, the tone flirtatious.

"As does mine," she played back.

Andy leaned sideways and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "Yeah, but does the fair Captain have homemade gelato in her fridge?"

Sharon hummed as she shook her head.

"I know just the place," Andy told her, a smile in his voice and a twinkle in his eyes.

Sharon rolled her eyes; it was becoming a goddamn line.

"You always 'know just the place'."

"Ha, ha," he faked laughed but it turned to a genuine chuckle.

"Andy," Sharon interrupted him and when she had his eyes, she smiled, "I would love coffee and homemade gelato at your place."

Andy smiled back, his eyes glittering.

They always flirted occasionally, and easily, and yet they never ventured past a certain line. There was a structure to their friendship, a comfortable intimacy, and to venture beyond those borders was just the slightest bit terrifying. For the moment Sharon was content with their friendship; she felt comfortable and confident in the knowledge that Andy was a very good friend. He was someone to rely on and to share both heartache and happiness with. That they went on what others considered 'dates', was beyond the point.

They made their way to Andy's old Crown Vic, the car having seen better days. The front window shield had been replaced just last month after a suspect had ceremoniously thrown an entire safe deposit box through the glass in a fit of rage. Andy had bemoaned the fact for weeks in much the same voice he bemoaned how much Lieutenant Mike Tao was earning consulting on 'Badge of Justice'.

Their flirtatious walk was interrupted by the subdued sound of Sharon's phone ringing from the pocket of her blazer.

So much for peace, Sharon thought, at this late hour it was always work.

Andy shrugged. They were both aware of the high possibility of a roll out. The preceding week had been slow, each day ending well before 4 pm.

Sharon went in search of the phone in the pocket underneath the leather jacket. When she fished it out, she saw Chief Taylor's number flashing on the screen.

Andy looked over her shoulder and then grimaced when he saw the name.

"Good evening, Chief," Sharon answered courtly.

She listened to Taylor talking, acutely aware of Andy's gaze that lingered on her.

Just then Andy's phone rang as well – it lay in the pocket of the leather jacket, Sharon felt it vibrating through the leather. Sharon turned her side to him and then tried not to think too much of the intimacy when Andy took a step closer and zipped down the pocket in his leather jacket.

Chief Taylor explained the circumstances surrounding a new case and the few maybe related highlights from an earlier investigation Robbery/Homicide had made. Sharon listened and still, she could not help but smile at the gruff way Andy answered his own phone, the "What?" most likely directed at Lt. Provenza.

Sharon kept smiling to herself, amused by the downturned mouth on her lieutenant's face and the dark eyes giving into an eye roll.

"Yes, thank you chief. Yes, I'll see you there, bye," Sharon ended the call when she had all the details, sure lieutenant Provenza was calling with the logistics.

"Yeah, what of it? – It's Saturday! Yeah, she's here," Andy grumbled at his phone, a quick, apologetic look at her before his jaw clenched, "Oh for Christ's sake, just get to it. What is it? Bodies? Hostage situation? Missing people?"

There was a poignant pause while Andy listened to lieutenant Provenza, his grimace not lessening. After a minute and Andy grumbling what sounded like, 'see you there', he ended the call.

"Roll out, huh," Andy commented with an indecipherable look at her.

Sharon nodded, "I'd imagine Provenza is getting everyone up to speed?"

Andy nodded, "Yeah – he called you first but it went to voice mail."

"Chief Taylor said patrol found a body and it has links to an open case that Robbery/Homicide investigated. Major Crimes is taking over."

Andy hummed, "That'll go over nice with Robbery/Homicide, yikes!"

Sharon smiled; she had been through many turf wars and intra-divisional plays of territorial pissing. She could easily pull out whatever she needed to defuse situations whether it was sharing a case congenially or putting others in their places.

"I'm sure Robbery/Homicide will be happy to have our help," she commented with a wry smile.

Andy gave her a look of disbelief, "I think you and I have a different view on Robbery/Homicide. They are a hot-headed bunch – not willing to share much, let alone their coffee machine."

She arched an eyebrow, "You used to be one of them."

"Exactly," he grinned, "I know the Neanderthals by heart."

Sharon shook her head and then said, with a noticeable sigh, "Well, we better get a move on, lieutenant."

Andy nodded sourly and then after a second, he arched an eyebrow as he lingered by the passenger car door, "so much for ice cream, huh? Rain check?" He watched her settle in.

Sharon nodded softly, "Rain check."

It was a sour way to end an otherwise wonderful night.

…


	3. Part 2

_What moves in the depth of darkness? Part 2_

By the time they arrived at the crime scene, the temperature had dropped a degree or two more and it was approaching early morning. The storm had passed an hour ago and the horizon was starting to light up in turquoise.

Sharon shivered against the chillness of early morning, still encased in her lieutenant's leather jacket. She had meant to change into something of her own but time had run out. There were other things more pressing. She crossed her arms to warm herself as she made her way across the parking lot of the national park, water puddles littering the ground. The lot was void of visitors but stacked full of police personnel and their vehicles; cruisers, the coroners van and a few civilian cars she recognized as belonging to her team.

Andy walked beside her, a quick stride and a grim expression.

The yellow tape cordoning off the crime scene, and the entrance to the park, flapped in the wind. One end of the tape flew off, whipping unhinged in the wind, and Sharon watched a uniform haphazardly hurrying after it. The murmur of voices became more comprehendible the closer they came, Lieutenant Provenza and Chief Taylor in the midst of the group.

Chief Taylor was talking to Sergeant Renner from Robbery/Homicide, the younger detective seeming somewhat annoyed from what Sharon could tell. Provenza stood, arms folded and an expression that said he was tired but alert nonetheless. Provenza interrupted Taylor with a pointed glare at Sergeant Renner and a gesture that meant the lieutenant was working on the last dredges of patience.

Sharon sighed; of all people, Provenza was less than adequate when it came to inter-office relations and keeping them civil. She took a couple of hurried steps and prayed the older man did not end up saying something offensive.

"Evening gentlemen," she swept in smoothly, her tone low.

Chief Taylor looked up and Provenza looked guilty when Sharon directed her attention at him. The older man shrugged, as if to say it was not his fault and she arched an eyebrow in reply.

Sergeant Renner gave her a narrowed glare that had more to do with her earlier work in Internal Affairs than her present position. Sharon remembered dealing with the boy when he had graduated the academy and gotten in trouble after a case. As she recalled there had been some drinking involved and an off-duty disturbance. All resolved after a couple of therapist conversations.

"Captain," Taylor greeted her and he was just about to say something more, when Provenza interrupted him, "We are just about to send out the search team, Captain."

Provenza nodded to the group behind him. Amy Sykes gave Sharon a greeting wave and a smile. A large group of uniforms fresh out of the academy and a group of SID officers stood with Amy, ready to span out and do a perimeter search through the park with the cadaver dogs.

"You're sending out the cadaver dogs? I thought patrol already found a body?" Andy intervened as he crossed his arms and cut off Sergeant Renner from the group.

Sharon gave Andy a pointed look, he shrugged sheepishly and took another sidestep so the other detective could be involved again.

Sergeant Renner answered somberly, "Patrol was called out after a runner stumbled across a body near the entrance, half hidden in a water hole. Once they found the state of the victim, Robbery/Homicide was called in. I worked a similar case in December and I found the same distinguishing mark on the victim's hand now, as I did in December. It has obvious links with my open case where two victims were found at the same time in late December with the same marks on their hands. The rooks and the cadaver dogs are off to search the rest of the park for other bodies as a precaution."

Sharon nodded, the explanation matching what the chief had told her over the phone.

"Ah, excuse me," Taylor held up a hand when his phone rang and fished it up of his pocket as he walked away from the group, answering with a low 'Chief.'

Provenza made a face at Taylor's retreating back with the usual white hat on top of his head slightly askew. It was nice to know that some things in life remained constant; the lieutenant's crossword puzzle solving in the afternoons and the infamous white hat to count among them.

"Chief Taylor relocated the case to Major Crimes," Provenza said and then continued, "we found a phone near the victim, Tao is trying to get it working."

He nodded in the direction of Kendall, the coroner's investigator and the departing crowd of police personnel going to search the park, "and the rest of the show is in full swing. Sykes is supervising the search team."

"And Doctor Morales?" Sharon asked.

Provenza nodded, "Doctor Morales is on his merry way – so far Kendall is overlooking the setting up. Sanchez is also on his way – he was up the coast with his sister and mother and there was an accident on the 101, so he's stuck for now. Buzz," Provenza stopped to wave in the direction of Buzz Watson who stood next to Kendall, filming the body that lay on a white tarp on the ground, a white LAPD tent being raised around them.

"Buzz is filming, as usual."

Sharon nodded as she looked around at the busy scene. Everything was skillfully in motion, and it was yet another thing to count on: the lieutenant's proficiency at getting a crime scene up to speed.

Mike Tao came in from the left, cutting short a conversation on his phone, "Captain, Andy," Mike greeted them, "the phone we found with our victim, it's a burner phone. The cover and glass was broken, presumably with a blunt object of some sort. I will try to get the SIM card working once we get back to headquarters. If we are lucky, it will tell us a bit more about our victim, or murderer, and preferably provide us with an identity. There was no wallet or ID on the body; so far we are dealing with a John Doe."

"And the victim?" Sharon inquired.

Provenza made another face and then with a finger, he beckoned them to follow him. He took them in the direction of the victim on the tarp.

The smell hit first; like a wall of decaying blood clotting the air. It was a heavy and festering smell that felt thick in the air.

Sharon grimaced and caught Buzz's eyes; the man looked to be seconds from throwing up, his eyes focusing not on the corpse but somewhere in the distance.

The victim lay on the tarp; clothes wet and darkened by mud, long blonde hair dirtied by leaves and grime, his mouth open and dark agglomerated spittle on cracked lips. Then there was the gaping wound that ran from the end of the sternum to the pelvis, opening up the abdomen and spilling out intestines. Gorged and darkened intestines. A part of the small bowel was slung around the victim's neck.

There was always something strange about a death like this; something surreal.

"Christ!" Andy Flynn mumbled next to her, his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he surveyed the scene.

Sharon sighed; it was going to be a long day.

"What can you tell us, Kendall?" Sharon asked the coroner's investigator.

Kendall looked up from where he sat on his haunches, "The victim is male, age appears to be between 30-50, he appears to have been in good shape prior to death, good physique. There seems to be no other trauma than the obvious, um, disembowelment." Kendall paused and then pointed at the ruined suit the victim wore, "The suit is blue and tailored, the labels say Armani and there's an expensive gold watch on his right hand."

Kendall pointed at the arm, the watch muddied but otherwise intact, still working.

"What of the mark Robbery/Homicide spoke of?" Andy asked as he sidestepped the tarp to look more closely at the man's arm.

Kendall pulled up the sleeve on the left arm, "Here, see. It's a tattoo, crudely done if I had to guess."

The first of the tattoo was half-obscured by a bruise mark, but it clearly said Guilty IV.

Sharon stepped closer, her eyes on the half-bloated skin of the victim's face, "What about his teeth? Are they well preserved?"

"Yeah, they seem to be in good health; Morales will be able to tell you more once his autopsy is over."

Sharon hummed thoughtfully.

"Oh, and John Doe's shoe size is 11."

There was a beat of silence. Sharon crossed her arms, thinking.

Sergeant Renner interrupted her musings, his voice sour, "What do you want me to do, Captain?"

Before Andy or Provenza could detour the situation with a sarcastic reply, Sharon answered the younger man, "could you tell us a little more about the case from December, Sergeant?"

The younger man nodded.

Andy gave her a mischievous crooked smile and Sharon smiled knowingly back.

...

A/N: Thanks for the lovely feedback =)


	4. Part 3

_What moves in the depth of darkness? Part 3_

Amy Sykes moved uphill at a measured pace through the wet grass, her eyes scanning the ground, the drab brown color of weed and grass flattened by rain earlier in the night. Spanning out to her left and right were twenty or so uniforms walking in a line up the small hill; SID officers with cadaver dogs on leashes leading the way, heads downturned searching the ground. The low pitch of breathing dogs propelled Amy forward.

The search line went between trees and bushes, uphill and downhill, through mud patches and water holes. The ground gave way to wetlands, making Amy happy she had remembered her wellingtons.

The air had been brisk and the sky still half dark when they had started at the rendezvous point. The sun was on a steady rise now. As it climbed above the horizon, it shined a magnificent light that bathed the surrounding nature in a bright orange glow. It would have captured Amy's attention on any other occasion but trudging through a national park in the early hours of morning looking for dead bodies, kept her from appreciating the view.

The sun was fledging free of the horizon when she stumbled over a fallen branch lodged in the ground. Her quick reflexes kept her from falling face first unto the wet ground; she threw her hands out to brace her fall.

She was brushing mud off her hands and knees when one of the cadaver dogs went past her and then started barking at something further ahead. The officer with the leash came halting after, out of breath.

Between high grass and behind a half rotten tree trunk on a bed of muddy leaves, a figure lay in dark clothes on the side. The smell hit Amy next; the sickly sweet odor of blood in decay. The smell hung low to the ground, tangled with the scent of wet earth. It was cloying and ripe.

The smell swept in through her nostrils and made her insides contract in dismay. For a short second, Amy was sure she would spill her guts on the floor of the park. However by taking a deep breath in through her mouth, and swallowing what little bile had made its way up, she kept her guts in check.

The dog was still making noise, a low growling, waiting for its guardian to calm it down. The officer was preoccupied by vomiting on the ground. Amy had never felt particularly peevish about the more gory details of her profession; she had seen her fair share of wounds and blood from her tours as a soldier. There was no shame in throwing up. Overseas they had all done it at one point or another.

Amy moved closer, quietening the dog who sat down at her command. When she rounded the other side of the figure, it became clear why the smell was so pungent. Like the other victim, the man had his stomach split open and his entails spilled out. Like the previous victim, one length of the small bowel was wrapped around his neck.

The ground was dark with blood and rain, the bodily liquids half drained by the soil. Closer to the body, the smell changed, it became the sickening sweet scent of blood mixed with the odor of feces. Upon closer inspection, Amy could see where some of the entails had been slit open and spilled not only blood but whatever had been in the digestive system at the time.

She straightened up and waved a hand in the air. The rest of the search line was too far away to see, so she shouted as well, "Hey guys, another body!"

An SID officer started making her way over while the rest continued the search.

The puking uniform in charge of the dog –a boy really – still looked green when he stood up, a little spittle on his chin. He went to kneel by the dog, "Good boy, good boy," he murmured while he absently patted the dog, probably to get his mind off the awful scene.

"Don't worry," Amy looked at the officer's uniform for his surname, "Officer Jensen. We all throw up once in a while, it's normal."

The boy nodded, his eyes briefly on the body before he quickly looked away again biting his lip.

The SID officer came within view and then grimaced at the sight.

"That's a damn mess, alright," the woman muttered before she began putting down her equipment, careful not to disturb the crime scene. "You two, be careful where you tread," she told Amy and Officer Jensen. The woman leaned closer to the body, humming under her breath, eyes scanning the body and the surrounding grass.

"Jensen, go look for footprints and trash, stuff like cigarette butts and gum wrappings. Ten meter perimeter," Amy told the uniform and drew a circle in the air.

She took out her phone and called Lieutenant Provenza. While she waited for the old man to answer his phone, she took a closer look at the victim's half bloated face. The body lay with its left cheek on the ground, a darkened bruise around the nose and under both eyes. Some animal, probably a bird or a rat, had pecked a hole through one eye socket.

"You found something?" Provenza answered his phone, he sounded particularly grumpy on the line. Amy ascribed it to too little sleep.

"Yes, sir," she answered.

"Well, what is it?" Provenza huffed impatiently.

"Another body. Intestines spilt and used for strangling, just like our other John Doe."

"Damn."

"Mmhmm. Should we get this on tape, sir?"

"Just wait a moment, Sykes,"

Amy listened to Provenza huffing and the low murmur of voices in the background, then Buzz Watson was on the line, "Detective Sykes?"

Amy hummed, "We found another body Buzz, and we could use your camera."

"Oh…" he did not sound particularly enthusiastic, "Oh, well, okay. Yes. I, I'll be on my way then."

"We are approximately two kilometers north west," Amy told him, "I'll send Officer Jensen to meet you halfway."

Buzz affirmed.

"Oh, and Buzz?" she waited for his yes and then she advised him, "I would take some eucalyptus gel with me, if I were you."

"Uh. Yes. Okay. Thank you, Detective Sykes."

The line clicked shut and Amy sent Jensen back to camp along with Buzz's telephone number.

"So?" Amy turned to the SID officer, her gaze drawn to the head again, "Anything interesting?"

"Besides the obvious disembowelment, no, not that I can see," the woman said while putting on gloves.

"We'll have to wait for the camera man to document the body before we look for ID and wallet."

Amy nodded, "what about the wrist? Is there a mark?" she squinted and looked closer.

The woman bent closer and then she nodded, "Yes, just like the one back at the entrance. Says Guilty and then the Roman numeral five. It looks recent to me, but Doctor Morales will probably be able to say more about it with certainty."

Amy leaned closer, mindful of her steps, "Strange."

The SID officer hummed and handed a pair of gloves to Amy.

Amy put the gloves on and started on a small perimeter search around the area now that Jensen went looking for Buzz. She searched the undergrowth for signs of people moving through. Footprints or cigarettes butts or something similar that a killer might throw away.

She found nothing.

…


	5. Part 4

_What moves in the depth of darkness? Part 4_

Doctor Morales arrived in a flurry just as Buzz Watson was preparing to hike off with his gear to the second crime scene. Lieutenant Provenza held up a hand, making Buzz wait.

The doctor joined Kendall for a short moment, trained eyes giving the first victim a once over. The two men were too far away for Buzz to hear but from the stance and the gestures, Buzz figured Morales was giving out further instructions. Doctor Morales then joined Buzz and Provenza, a pair of Wellingtons under his arms. Buzz gave the doctor an askance glance; the other man was in no way dressed for hiking through a national park after rainfall. The trench coat with its pale beige color would be dirtied within minutes of walking and the suit underneath it seemed to be better acquitted for a night out. Buzz waited patiently while the doctor hopped on first one leg and then the other to pull on the boots. What in the world would one dress up for at the crack of dawn?

The gel Buzz had smeared under his nose felt brisk in the wind. It was a good precaution. He might have seen a lot of crime scenes over the years, but they still got to him. And if Amy said the smell was bad, the likelihood of him throwing up skyrocketed. That detective was pretty hardcore.

"Two seconds, two seconds," Morales sang out with an askew smile and half-ran to pick up an equipment box from the backseat of his car.

With the box in hand and boots on his feet, Morales looked at Provenza and Buzz, "Evening, lieutenant, evening, Buzz," Morales said with a cheerful smile.

"It's morning," Provenza grumbled.

Morales shrugged, "Technically it's evening for me. I haven't been to bed yet."

Provenza rolled his eyes disapprovingly, "I can tell."

Buzz looked at his watch; it was fast approaching 8 am.

"Well, should we go?" Morales suggested and sent Buzz a beaming smile. Buzz nodded, and took a look at all the gear, and the big camera, he was going to haul all by his lonesome self to the second crime scene.

Provenza waved them off with a knowing smile before he went off in the direction of the rest of the team. They, along with the Captain, stood huddled around a temporary station set up, talking in low voices.

Buzz sighed.

They began walking across the gravel of the parking lot, toward one of the trails that led northbound.

"What a beautiful sunrise. Did you happen to catch it?" the doctor asked in an exalted voice when they passed from gravel to grass, and nodded at Buzz's camera. They had left the parking lot behind them now.

The guy was a bouncing ball of happy, Buzz found. Upon further thought, Buzz guessed it was a necessary tactic when working with dead bodies day in and day out. The squad did the same from time to time, humor making the dark seem a little less heavy to carry.

"I didn't see it," Buzz replied with a polite smile. He had been too busy filming the first victim and trying not to look too much at the visible guts of a dead human, while still maintaining his breakfast.

"You know," Morales started conversationally, his eyes briefly going back to the white tent around the tarp and first victim, "it's been quite a while since I last had to work with disembowelment."

Buzz pursed his mouth.

The doctor continued, "It's not every day we see it. You know, in ancient times, some used it as device of torture. And the samurai of old would use it as a means of suicide, absolving them, and their families, from their crimes and dishonor."

The man looked entirely too cheerful about the subject, his mouth parting in a smile, "Interesting isn't it?"

Buzz could only nod reluctantly.

"Just imagine, some samurai would even pull out their own viscera after making the cut horizontally."

Buzz hummed and hoped it would somehow convey, without appearing rude, that the topic was not delighting him. Nor did he wish to spend the next twenty minutes hearing a detailed history of disembowelment.

Doctor Morales droned on, seeming more focused on the surrounding nature and sharing his knowledge than the apparent disinterest in Buzz's tone.

It was going to be a long day.

At times the doctor appeared to be bit of an enigma, the dark morgue humor and easy smile lending some confusion for Buzz. It was the contrast, Buzz thought, between life and death. The dark, despondent matters of their profession seemed more depressing to Buzz than anything else. Of course, there were good days and cases that ended with murderers behind bars, but still, it both intrigued and puzzled him, how you could work with the dead like the doctor did, and then still keep your humor and your positive attitude. Sometimes the doctor scared Buzz a little. Not that he was going to admit it, or tell anyone. It was kind of like how the Captain used to scare him back when she had worked for F.I.D and the whole division had disliked her with various emotional gradients. Buzz had never disliked her or felt she was a nuisance; no, he had instead felt a small sizzling fright of her.

Buzz still remembered the few times he had been left alone in electronics with her, and how her presence had put him on edge. That was until the woman had actually spoken to him, quite softly and congenially. The persona and the reputation that had preceded her, dissolved before his eyes then. She was just doing her job. In a way, he had started liking her before she even transferred to Major Crimes.

Maybe if he got to know the medical examiner, like he had gotten to know the Captain, maybe then he would change his mind about the doctor as well, Buzz thought. Maybe the man would be less of a puzzle then.

The smile on Morales face only widened as they followed a broad, down-trodden trail.

"It reminds me of a case back in 2007, actually. Have I ever told you about the curious case of Humpty Dumpty from San Diego?" Morales asked cheerfully.

Buzz shook his head, the corners of his mouth lifting up, even if he was not too keen on the subject. The doctor was enthusiastic about his work; and that Buzz could relate to.

…


	6. Part 5

_What moves in the depth of darkness? Part 5_

Andy Flynn moved restlessly around the squad room of the Major Crimes division, the pace taking him by his desk many times. If he sat down, he would fall asleep so instead he paced. The team was back at headquarters in downtown Los Angeles, coordinating the preliminary findings and setting up the murder board. So far, there was not a lot to go on.

Buzz had gone home, Amy Sykes was somewhere in the building, and the rest, seasoned and embodied by their work, found nitpicks to do. Going home before everyone else, especially before the Captain, was not an option for him.

Their two victims were still without identity. Andy couldn't very well do a master search on John Doe number 1 and 2. Heck, he had scrolled though missing persons in Los Angeles County twice already with a photo of the two victims next to his computer screen and the descriptions of both men post mortem from Kendall. So far there was nothing. Maybe the autopsy would lend a clue to the identity of the two men.

The hour was late and the sky was once again darkened by night, Andy hadn't even had a chance to change clothes from his yesterday's evening dinner with Sharon.

Julio had ordered a stack of pizzas for the team and the younger detective sat by his desk with a pizza slice in his hand, rereading incidence reports from the manhunt of Philip Stroh on his computer. It was a lot of sightings and other peculiar discrepancies that naturally bombarded hotlines and patrol when a man hunt was ongoing. With thirty plus years on the force, Andy had been through his fair share of manhunts. With men like Philip Stroh, it rarely ended in the Police's favor. Stroh was cunning and not the regular 'dumb dumb' criminal Robbery/Homicide usually dealt with. Andy could only hope the psycho's ego would eventually get him captured.

The tight grimace on Julio's face deepened as the evening wore on and Andy could only sigh. He understood the younger detective all too well; reading fruitless incidence reports – when that was the only available thing – felt better than doing nothing.

The aroma of pizza was thick in the room and Andy strode back to his desk, glaring at the offending yet deliciously looking fast-food. He had a doctor's appointment coming up next week, and even if it was just a regular checkup, and his blood pressure was low from medication, he still did not feel like eating the junk.

Mike Tao was typing away fast at his keyboard with one hand while the other held a slice of pizza, melted cheese hanging precariously from the apex of the slice, threatening to fall off and land on the desk. Mike seemed unconcerned by this fact, engrossed with something on his screen and typing while he muttered under his breath, something with numbers and 'aha's'.

After working with the other man for close to ten years, Andy knew to leave him alone to his computer magic. That was, unless he felt like being drawn into another one of Mike Tao's infamous lectures on mathematical intricacies. The man was a walking encyclopedia. Andy figured the lieutenant was working on the SIM card from the first victim's phone, or maybe setting up internet traps for Stroh. Who knew, the man was probably doing both with his magical computer prowess.

Amy Sykes came striding in from the hallway, a bounce in her stride. Her hair was wet from what Andy assumed was a shower since she carried a gym bag in one hand and had changed from wellingtons into sneakers.

Her eyes gleamed when she spotted saw the four boxes of pizzas on Julio's desks, "Oh please tell me that's pizza for everyone?"

Julio grinned from his desk, "It sure is."

The girl immediately grabbed a piece, folded it in half and started gulping it down. Andy stared hungrily, and slightly annoyed, as Sykes finished one slice only to start on another. Julio chuckled and took another slice himself, turning his eyes back to his computer screen.

"Flynn?" Julio ventured.

"Yeah?" Andy turned away from his desk and sauntered past the pizza boxes again, the scent sneaking into his nostrils. He read over Julio's shoulder, it was a report from two weeks after Stroh's escape, "Something caught your eye?"

"Look here, this report says someone called in about a man with Stroh's characteristics renting a van up north, close to the border. Patrol looked into it but it didn't lead anywhere conclusive. You don't think Stroh is going to move to Canada, do you?"

Andy grunted, "I would be happy if the creep relocated to the Arctic Circle and died of frostbite and hypothermia, but we're not that lucky, I think."

Tao joined in from his own desk, "Philip Stroh is most likely staying within a certain comfort zone; not too far from Los Angeles and California if I had to guess. In ten years the man rarely moved out of the state. I guess he could have procured business outside the state, but according to bank records and the IRS, he rarely did."

Julio nodded, "Canada's a no, then."

Andy grunted, "If the creep has a little sense about him, he would stay well out of California."

Julio agreed with a dark countenance.

"Stroh is smart. If I were him, I would lay low for a while until the general public forgets about me," Amy supplied.

Julio nodded again and then with a shrug, he continued reading the many reports on the computer. Andy turned and leant against Julio's desk, facing the pizzas.

Sykes started on her third piece of pizza and between chewing, she continued, "Maybe he is out of the country?"

Andy rolled his eyes, "You have plenty of time to chew your food, Sykes. We are not on a deadline here. The only way out of the country for Stroh is through Mexico or Canada; the airports are a no go. And as Tao pointed out, he rarely left this state and he might not be able to get across the border without us picking it up."

The girl stuck her tongue out at him, smiling cheekily, "Stroh has lots of contacts. Someone could easily have smuggled him across the border, or maybe he changed his appearance. He could be in France for all we know."

Andy shrugged, "No way to know for sure right now." Sykes consented and kept munching on her pizza.

The day had been long and the little food they had managed to grab while working out at the crime scene all day was not near enough to make up for it being close to 7 pm. Andy's stomach growled in protest when he passed the pizzas again, still not taking a slice.

"I'm going out for a salad," Andy declared to the group, taking his leather jacket from the back of his chair.

Julio snickered, "Are you on cleansing again, sir?"

Andy flipped the idiot off with a smug smile before he made his escape. It was all in good fun.

The smile slipped off his face the moment he was out in the hallway. Beneath the surface of his skin, he boiled with tension. Stroh was out and about; threatening the lives of people Andy held dear. Brenda Leigh Johnson had called him the day after Stroh had escaped to give him a colossal scolding on letting Stroh escape. Andy had kept his mouth shut even if he had had nothing to do with the incidence. The former chief – she would in some ways always be chief to him – had every right to feel angry. Andy was angry on her behalf. Heck, he was angry on Sharon's and Rusty's behalf – and angry on behalf of all the victims and their families that deserved closure. After a two minute raging monologue, the chief had quietened down and Andy had promised her they would get the bastard.

It was the same lie he had given to Sharon only whereas Brenda had huffed irritated, Sharon had smiled so softly and sadly, it had nearly broken his heart. It was not a lie per se, but Andy knew that giving those kind of promises were like shooting yourself in the foot. It was impossible to keep a promise so absurd, it hinged on so many aspects outside his control and yet it was what he always ended up doing. He had done it quite a number of times over the years, mainly with families of victims; broken people who sought some sort of closure. Over the years he had managed to keep most of his promises, and yet some promises were still out there, waiting to be fulfilled.

On top of Stroh being free, and no sleep and little to no food, there was also the absurd spectrum of feelings Andy harbored for Sharon. Somehow, it all seemed to collide in his mind, today of all days. Andy found himself entertaining thoughts with an increasing intensity, thoughts that left him breathless. Frankly, he felt out of his depth. In his entire adult life, he had never had a friend like Sharon. It was so different from what he was used to. It had progressed into something special, something he treasured beyond measure. There was still a slight residual layover from the whole fiasco with his lie to his daughter about them dating. Andy was going to rectify that whole misunderstanding, but still it was back to normal between them and it only kept becoming more and more intense as the year progressed. It was a bit of a puzzle for Andy to navigate their relationship; he didn't want to push her and yet he didn't want to seem too withdrawn. It was a delicate balance. He wavered between trying to deepen their friendship and confessing his, more romantic, feelings.

He was still high from their outing the previous night. The atmosphere had gotten to him. Andy had felt drawn into a different world where lightning out at sea had seemed romantic and Sharon had posed a beautiful figure when she had stood looking out over the ocean. In the end, he decided he did not want to rush it. There was something special about the way they were at the moment. He knew that confessing his goddamn feelings about the woman could lead to greater things, but there was no hurry to do so.

Christ! He was so caught up in his head, it was no wonder the world at times felt like it moved in a different direction than his feet.

Andy waited for the elevator cart, deep in thought.

The elevator doors opened and out stepped an occupied-looking Rusty Beck, two inches from colliding with Andy.

"Hey Rusty," Andy greeted as he sidestepped the boy.

"Oh hey, Lieutenant Flynn. Sorry, didn't see you there."

Andy looked at his watch and then at the boy, "Sharon's down in the morgue – shouldn't you be home? Don't you have a sociology test Monday?"

Rusty made a face, "I brought my sociology homework with me," he raised the shoulder from which his backpack hung. Rusty then held up a brown paper bag, "I thought I would bring Sharon some dinner – from her favorite place. I mean, I'm sure she would like that. She texted me that she haven't had anything to eat since midday."

Andy took a quick look in the bag; it was indeed Sharon's favorite concoction of salad and beans. It did not quite explain what the boy was doing here so late, though Andy had an idea it had more to do with Stroh than bringing Sharon food. Knowing him, the kid would not like to admit that. Rusty wanted a say in his future and to go on with his life without an escaped convict dictating it; Andy understood that. Still, the escape was raw and at night, it was hard not to imagine Philip Stroh hiding around a corner. So maybe the kid did not like being home alone; Andy could understand that.

"I'm sure Sharon will appreciate it," Andy told Rusty with a smile.

Rusty looked sheepish but tried to shrug it off.

"Yeah," Rusty paused and then added, "Julio promised to show me some self-defense moves, you know. Like how to fight off an attacker and make a run for it. I mean, I've already got the 'make a run for it' down to a tee, but yeah, like, I thought it couldn't hurt to know how to get out of a struggle."

Andy nodded and then gave the boy's shoulder an affectionate pat, "There's pizza in the squad room if you're hungry, and Julio has plenty of time tonight if you want to start learning how to defend yourself."

The boy smiled excited.

Andy then added with a grin and half a punch, "Including how to break someone's nose."

Rusty grinned, "Yeah, he said to go for the soft, weak spots."

Andy listed off, "Eyes, nose, throat, kidneys, junk, back of the knees. Pretty easy, huh?"

The smile on the boy's face widened and Andy could practically see tension lift from Rusty's shoulders, "Are you going home, lieutenant Flynn?"

"Nah, grabbing some fresh air and something to eat."

The kid nodded and waved and made his way to the murder room. Andy watched him walk down the corridor until the elevator doors started closing.

…

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews, follows and faves. Much appreciated. =)


	7. Part 6

_What moves in the depth of darkness? Part 6_

Lieutenant Provenza studied the Captain as they waited outside the morgue. Doctor Morales was putting the finishing touches on the last autopsy behind closed doors. The hallway was empty and cold and the smell of antiseptic was strong even out here. But it was better to stand in the hallway while the Doctor sliced and diced and otherwise examined various body parts. Provenza didn't much feel up to seeing all those entails again, nor did he mind not seeing the doctor humming or smiling as he took out the organs. It always creeped him out.

The Captain appeared unfazed, her attention on the iPad in her hands, her index finger out and turning a page on the device. Her nose had been stuck in the damnable iPad ever since Stroh had escaped and when she was not paying attention to a case, the woman was more engrossed in the incidence reports than even Julio. Not that Provenza expected her to act otherwise. Despite the obvious aggravation surrounding Stroh's escape, the woman appeared collected and calm as usual. Rusty went about his life and Sharon Raydor went about hers. Provenza was sure this was the exact reason that had people thinking the woman was carved out of ice.

There was also the matter of the so called friendship the woman had fostered with Andy Flynn. In Provenza's perspective, it was escalating, fast. There was something about those two confiding in each other that felt absurd to him, especially considering past rants Andy and him had had about that very woman. And yet, there was something about both of them that he felt protective of, respectively. It was all in all very conflicting and aggravating to think about. For Christ's sake, Flynn had spent the majority of his career in Robbery/homicide making trouble for someone like Raydor. And the Captain, she was just now getting out of a lifelong marriage. On the other hand, Flynn had never shown the same interest in anyone else for as long as Provenza had known him.

Provenza did not need the two of them to confess to anything, he already knew everything from their interactions. However much his idiot friend denied that they were dating, Provenza had a hard time seeing how taking someone to one restaurant fancier than the one before was not considered dating. Not to mention all the other nauseating stuff they did. Heck, it would not surprise him if they strolled along the beach at sunset, holding hands. Nothing they did, or might do, surprised him anymore, not since Flynn had taken her to a Dodgers game. That had been the last straw for Provenza; that gesture was, if anything, romantic in nature. Hell, the idiot had draped the Captain in his fucking leather jacket this morning as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Draping your jacket over someone was a romantic gesture in Provenza's book.

Provenza crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, studying the woman some more, seizing the opportunity when she was so grossly occupied by the contents on the iPad.

Her lips pursed.

Granted, she was beautiful and Provenza would even budge and agree with Flynn that she could be funny on occasions.

"Is there anything you need to get off your chest, lieutenant?" Sharon asked him in a calm, succinct voice, not once looking up. Yet the woman conveyed her dislike of being stared at pointedly, "or do I have something stuck on my face?"

Just as Provenza opened his mouth to retort back, the door to the morgue opened and the doctor poked his head out and beckoned them inside with a flappy hand wave, "All ready."

The Captain finally looked up and gave the doctor a warm smile before she followed him into the morgue.

Provenza sighed and then followed on her heel.

"So," Morales began, gesturing to the two victims on the autopsy tables, white sheets up to their chins. Their organs were on two separate tables near the sink, sliced and ready for tests and microscopic examination.

"John Doe One and Two, both males, 30-50 years of age. Both appear to be of good physical health before their untimely deaths."

The Captain nodded.

Morales stood by the first victim, one hand tapping John Doe One's shoulder.

"There are a lot of similarities between both murders, but also some discrepancies. First off, cause of death appears to be blood loss for our first victim. That is, our first John Doe appears to have died faster than our second John Doe due to a lesion in his descending aorta; a complication to the evisceration."

Provenza moved closer.

Morales continued, "John Doe the First was already dead when the killer pulled his entails out and wrapped one part of the small bowel around his neck."

The doctor paused by the first victim, lifting the sheet, "As you can see, there are no marks of strangulation around the neck and no petechial hemorrhage of the eyes. Of course, it's only a qualified guess so far, and I will know more when I examine the muscles and vessels of his neck."  
"It will be interesting once the toxicology report comes in," Morales pointed at the nook of the elbow on the first victim, "see here, there's a small puncture mark reminiscent of a needle mark, recently acquired and close to time of death I would dare say. There is no other evidence of narcotics use or abuse. Perhaps the killer sedated his victims first, so he could slice their abdomen open without the victim fighting back."

"Does John Doe Two have the same needle mark?" Provenza asked.

"Yes, he does indeed. Identical mark on the same arm. The cause of death is however a bit different for our John Doe Two."

"How so?" Sharon asked.

"Well, here the killer managed not to cut open the aorta or its collateral blood vessels, so the victim was alive when the intestines were being pulled out from his body."  
"See," Morales moved to the other table and pulled down the sheet, his finger at the man's throat, "there are marks that suggest he was still alive when he was being strangled. Of course, he was dying from blood loss at the same time."

"Would you say the killer used the disembowelment as a form of torture, doctor?" The Captain asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Yes it would seem so," the Doctor nodded, "even if it was intended or not by the killer. But then again, all depends on the toxicology report and blood analysis. Maybe both victims were sedated with opiates."

"What about these bruises to his face?" The Captain asked pointing at the marks around John Doe Two's nose and eyes.

"Recent, possible within the same time period as his death. If he fought back, it is likely the killer punched him."

Sharon hummed, "And what about the time of death?"

"Calculated from the potassium from our victims' eyes and due to the level of decomposition, I would guess it's within 2-5 days ago, with some margin for mistakes."

The Captain nodded, her eyes going to the arm of John Doe Two.

"And then at last," Morales turned the arm around, "we come to the grand curiosity of the evening."

"The tattoos," Provenza provided.

"Indeed," Morales swept the white sheets down and showed the left hand of John Doe One and the tattoo fixed across the wrist; guilty in large, black letters followed by a roman numeral.

The Captain leaned closer and Provenza followed her, both intrigued by the roman numerals that followed the word guilty, "guilty number 4, and guilty number 5," Provenza commented, "What do you think?"

The doctor pursed his lips, "They look recent and crude from the tissue around the tattoo. It's likely they are a mark the killer left. Unless, of course, our two victims decided to have the same tattoos done by an amateur a few days before their murder. And perhaps it's just a coincidence that a month ago two other guys showed up dead with the exact same tattoos. A bit circumstantial though. I would put my money on the killer tattooing the words." He smiled.

"Which begs two questions," the Captain said, her voice low, "Are we dealing with a serial killer and if we are, where, and who, is the first victim?"

"Also, why are the methods of murder not the same?" Morales supplied. "The two victims from December were neither strangled nor eviscerated."

Sharon hummed and tapped her tablet thoughtfully.

"It's a mess," Provenza sighed, feeling perplexed by the whole affair.

…


	8. Part 7

_What moves in the depth of darkness? Part 7_

By the time Sharon Raydor drove home, done for the day, night had fallen and only a few cars were out. The street lamps glowed orange and the traffic stops was void of any other vehicles. If Sharon was lucky, she would be able to get an uninterrupted six hours of sleep before she had to be at work again. Her eyelids felt heavy and exhaustion was like cotton inside her head. If she was lucky, then she would fall into a deep slumber the moment her head hit her pillow. However, she also knew that despite tiredness, she would lay awake, thinking about the case and the mysteries it provided.

Rusty fell asleep on the way home in the passenger side of Sharon's Hyundai, and it was with both some joy and some sorrow she looked at him sleeping when the car was parked in the garage at her condominium. It was the complexity of balancing worrying and not worrying that overcame both of them, the situation with Stroh's escape was anything but ideal.

In quiet times, like now, she was struck by this overwhelming feeling, a knot in her throat, at the immense love she felt for this boy - her son now. When he slept, peacefully like this, he looked even younger than he was.

Sharon woke Rusty up with a gentle touch to his shoulder, and when he started to come to, she touched a finger to his hair and temple. Sharon smiled when his eyes fluttered open and he yawned wide, giving her a nice view of the interior of his mouth, his uvula visible.

Rusty mumbled something incomprehensible, the words sounding like home and something else.

Sharon answered him with a hum and then made her way out of the car, picking up her briefcase from the trunk. Rusty followed her silently to the elevator.

On the way Sharon realized she had Andy's leather jacket under her arm. It said something about her exhaustion that she had not thought of it earlier; she had mindlessly picked it up from the trunk and taken it with her, as if it were her own jacket.

She closed her eyes for a brief second, amused by herself. Granted, the jacket was nice.

As they stopped by the elevator, the button for the ground level pushed, she looked at Rusty. He was yawning again.

"You didn't have to wait for me, you know," Sharon told him, her voice low. The elevator cart set in motion and she could hear it as it descended to the parking level.

Rusty shrugged, "I don't mind. I got Pizza."

Sharon pursed her lips and hummed. The whole squad room had been permeated in the stale smell of fast food by the time she had made her way up from the morgue. The sight of the brown paper bag Rusty had held in his hands, the familiar logo of the salad bar they usually frequented on the side, had been a blessing.

Rusty gave her a sideways glance, his expression open and sort of pleading, "Sharon. You do so much for me, and I just wanted to return some of that. Okay? I mean, my study group starts late tomorrow because it's Sunday and I know how much you like that beetroot salad."

Sharon smiled and quickly reached out, squeezing his shoulder.

"I appreciate it very much, honey. Especially the beetroot salad."

Rusty smiled, "Yeah. I figured you would."

The elevator took them up and they stayed quiet for the ride, both of them too tired to come up with much. Once they reached the apartment, and entered, Rusty turned to her and offered, "You want tea before you go to bed?"

A few warm sips of tea sounded wonderful to her. She nodded and then proceeded to put her things down while her son went to the kitchen to make them some tea to sleep on.

"So, how's the case going?" Rusty asked as he waited for the water to boil.

Sharon leaned against the kitchen counter, taking off her shoes while she balanced against the counter.

"Slow," she hid a yawn behind her hand, afraid she was going to yawn so wide her jaw would become unhinged.

"Mmhm," Rusty continued to stare at her, waiting.

She gave a small shrug, "What?"

Rusty rolled his eyes in amusement, "C'mon, I'm sure there's more to it. It was all over the news throughout the day, speculating about this and that."

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms. She had yet to actually watch the news but she was certain the media would be in frenzy about the disembowelment. Tomorrow she would have to make sure that some of the facts were kept quiet.

"We haven't made much headway yet. My victims are still without identity," she told Rusty.

Rusty reached for cups in the cabinet. "Have you ever like seen, disembowelment, before?"

Sharon shook her head, "No. This is the first, and hopefully last time."

"But like, Sharon, don't you think it's creepy?"

She gave a small smile and a nod, "Immensely. And it smelled awfully."

Rusty pulled a face.

Sharon yawned again.

Rusty gave her a long, worrying look, "You look tired."

Sharon rolled her eyes, "I am, yes." She waved in the direction of her bedroom, "I'll just go change."

Rusty nodded, "Yeah."

She gave him a brief smile before she forced herself to go to her bedroom, taking her briefcase and the leather jacket from the hallway with her. On the way, she tried to suppress another yawn but it only resulted in two yawns in close succession. Changing out of her clothes, Sharon contemplated the long day, from the dinner with Andy to the autopsy that did not make the case anymore comprehensible. She threw everything in the hamper for the laundry and found newly washed pajamas, the underlying scent of fresh detergent a comfortable fragrance. Even better, the sheets were new from yesterday as well. Sleep would be even more wondrous in clean sheets.

When Sharon came back to the kitchen, Rusty had both cups filled with tea, the warm scent of chamomile filling her nostrils when she took an apprehensive sip.

They both sat down on the couch, the silence and the feeling of being home, an encompassing feeling that spoke of familiarity and comfort.

"Sharon?" Rusty wondered out aloud after a beat of silence.

She hummed, her eyes closed.

"How do you like know, if you are like – you know… in love?"

That caught her attention. She opened her eyes and looked at Rusty. He was not squirming but close to it, his cup of tea forgotten on a coaster on the table. She tried not to smile too widely.

"Why? Is there someone you think you are in love with?" she smiled, her voice light.

"Maybe, I don't know," Rusty answered and then he reached out for the tea, hiding his expression as he sipped.

"Well," she started, contemplative, looking off into the night outside the windows to her terrace. What a comprehensive question to be asked, in the middle of the night no less. She was happy Rusty was comfortable enough with her to ask her such a question, but she was not sure she was the right person to ask. Last time she had been in love felt like an eternity ago.

When she looked back at Rusty, he was staring at her with an expression that looked more boyish than grown-up.

Sharon smiled gently at him, "It can feel very different from person to person," she pursed her lips, the vague answer not really helping Rusty much. She drew a deep breath and then volunteered, "Mostly, to me, it felt like an overwhelming – and exuberant – feeling." She clarified, "A sometimes very ambiguous feeling. Sometimes you simply know you're in love, and at other times, it takes some time to figure out your thoughts."

"Did you know with Jack?"

She heaved a small breath and then smiled, the corners of her mouth trembling slightly, "Yes. It was very, um, all-consuming in the beginning. It was inexplicable happiness, in the most absurd of moments."

Rusty nodded, "Okay."

"If you think you might be in love, then it might be worth exploring it," she smiled.

Rusty smiled, a small almost unnoticeable blush creeping up from his neck.

She decided not to poke too much at him; he looked both happy and apprehensive, and she knew if it troubled him, he would come to her.

"Being in love is a good feeling, all in all," she told him, smiling, and remembering back to those precious moments, that even if they felt like an eternity ago and were somewhat muddled by what had transpired since then, they were still somewhat preserved as good memories.

Rusty smiled back at her, the small 'yeah' leaving his mouth soft and low.

After the talk and tea, Sharon hugged her son close to her and whispered 'love you' in his ear before they said their goodnights and she made her way to her bedroom.

She stopped short when she noticed Andy's leather jacket on the bench at the foot of her bed. She took the garment up and put it in her closet next to a trench coat, the scent of the leather heavy and the feel of the leather on her skin rough. As such, the scent lingered in her mind and she was certain that it was the reason her dreams that night were vividly animalistic.

…


	9. Part 8

**23th ****Marts 2015**

**Monday**

**Los Angeles**

_What forms beyond clouds? Part 1_

…

Andy Flynn enjoyed getting into work at an early hour. Especially on Mondays. The early hours of the morning were ideal for checking up on old cases from previous years. One among those was Alice, the girl without any identity, even after all this time. Then there were other old unresolved cases that nagged in the back of his mind, like Bill Croelick and now Philip Stroh. The backload from the weekend was usually in the system by Monday, so it all fell into rhythm.

The squad room of the Major Crimes division was empty and silent as Andy worked. Dawn broke with rosy hues through the window panes of the building. The rest of the team would soon trickle in, one by one, so for now Andy enjoyed the quiet surroundings.

The murder board was up and the sparse information available on it testament to how little Sunday had revealed. Half the board was preserved for the open case from Robbery/Homicide. Sergeant Renner had yet to compile all his notes and reports together so that board was void of information so far. The other half of the board saw the autopsy pictures of the two unknown men from Saturday, their features somewhat preserved in death despite bloating and decay. Sometimes it could take months for an ID to come through, and other times, as in the Alice case, an ID was never found.

Sergeant Renner and the Robbery/Homicide division had reached a stalemate with the open case from December, and while the Sergeant might feel some residual annoyance with Major Crimes taking over his case, Robbery/Homicide had other more pressing matters to investigate. Still the idiot was taking his sweet time passing on the December case.

Andy was scrolling through the updated system on his computer. There were a lot of incidence reports and petty crimes to scroll through, but between those clusters there was a couple of missing person reports which is what he sought after.

Next to his keyboard sat a mug containing strong coffee, it had the logo of LAPD in blue lettering on its front. It was an old ceramic relic from the nineties, a cheap thing he had bought some odd twenty years ago, but it had followed Andy through his long career in Robbery/Homicide. The aroma of the coffee was intense and settled warmly in his stomach when he took a sip. Next to the coffee mug were Andy's breakfast; a carton of yogurt and a spoon from home.

In the middle of a spoonful, Andy heard the click-clacking of shoes against the floor. When Andy turned his head, Doctor Morales came waltzing into the murder room. He wore an excited expression and it only increased when the doctor spotted Andy.

"Oh thank heavens, someone's here!" Morales's voice rang out.

Andy swiveled around on his chair and regarded the cheerful doctor with a raised eyebrow, the spoon still in his mouth.

"I was afraid no one would be here to share in the happy, happy news."

Andy quickly swallowed the yogurt in his mouth and then croaked out, "Yeah? What news?"

Morales stopped next to Andy's desk, a folder in one hand and the other rested on his hip.

"I just got back confirmation from a forensic odontologist," Morales said as he waved the folder enthusiastically and continued in a giddy voice, "And guess what?"

Andy shrugged, "You've ID'ed our victims?"

"Bingo! Well, I've ID'ed one of them. Our second John Doe's dentals were in the records and we have a clear match."

"Really?" Andy sat up straighter, "Damn, that's a blessing."

The doctor nodded and then gave the folder to Andy with a flourish, "Here you go, one Martin Brooks."

Andy opened the folder and looked at x-rays of two dental pairs which apparently were a match. The name of Martin Brooks was at the top, and behind the x-ray was a piece of paper with information detailing the match in a lingo Andy was never going to understand. He understood canines and molars, but that was about it.

"I am still on the lookout for the identity of our first John Doe," Morales commented, "perhaps he will be an acquaintance of Martin Brooks, or maybe the dental or DNA will come through on him."

Andy looked up, "Thanks doc, this is gonna move our investigation along nicely."

The doctor did a weird little bow, "You're welcome and a good day to you," and then the other man waved as he strode back into the hallway.

Andy shook his head with a smile at the departure.

He took an extra look at the folder and the little information it held about Martin Brooks. Tapping into the search systems on his computer and the different police databases, it soon revealed that a Martin Brooks with the same address as stated on the dental records, was an attorney at law with 'Garbles, Brooks and Hems'. The man was reported missing yesterday evening by his wife. They had no children and two vehicles registered; a jaguar and a BMW. The home address was one of the nicer places out in the suburbs. Martin Brooks was in his late forties, blond-haired and tan. Andy supposed the fella would be considered more than handsome by most women, personally Andy felt the man looked too coifed.

Andy printed a picture out of Martin Brooks' driver's license and then went to scribble the name on the murder board. Next to the autopsy picture, he hung the DMV photo of the man.

Andy was studying the murder board with his arms crossed and leaning against Provenza's desk when he heard the ding of the elevator out in the hallway. It was accompanied by the tell-tale sound of the Captain's gait. A quick look at his watch revealed it was just about the usual time for her to come into work. The sound of her heels, more than familiar by now, ignited a warm fuzzy feeling in his body and he could not help but feel a rising excitement as her steps neared the squad room.

"Good morning, Andy," Sharon greeted him when she strode in and noticed him by Provenza's desk. She was carrying a Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and her briefcase and trench coat under the other arm.

Andy smiled happily, "Morning Sharon."

Despite what little sleep she had managed to get, his Captain looked impeccable. This morning had her in a nondescript black skirt and a white silk blouse tugged in at the waist of the skirt. She gave him a shrug and a smile before she moved in the direction of her office. When she passed him by, Andy noticed the slit in the back of the skirt. It afforded him a small, brief glimpse of the back of her thighs near the knees.

Sharon settled her things in her office and opened her laptop to turn it on. Andy tried his best not to stare at her, but failed. So instead he made his way back to his own desk, and, once there, he drowned the rest of the now lukewarm coffee in his mug, and sat down in his chair.

After a couple of minutes Sharon came out of her office and stood next to him, her coffee cup in one hand. Her eyes were trained on the computer screen with a scrutinizing look, the photo of Martin Brooks staring back at her.

"You're here early," she commented with a sideways glance, "again."

Andy shrugged, she knew he woke up like clockwork at 5 am and was therefore always one of the first to arrive at work.

"Who's this?" she pointed her chin at Martin Brooks, "Someone related to our case?"

"Doctor Morales found John Doe Two's identity through dental records. You just missed him, the dear doctor."

Sharon beamed, "That's a relief! Maybe we can finally get a move on the case, and before Chief Taylor wants us to put it on the back burner, hmm."

Andy agreed with a nod.

"Yeah, so our second John Doe is Martin Brooks. Senior lawyer with 'Garbles, Brooks and Hems'."

Sharon's lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, "I haven't heard of that firm before, have you?"

Andy shook his head, "Nah, it's a little exclusive firm downtown. Brooks is married, and the wife reported him missing yesterday. Brooks was off to a corporate seminar giving lectures last week. According to his wife, Brooks was supposed to be home Friday evening. He didn't show up, so the wife waited a couple of days and then reported him missing yesterday."

Sharon hummed and then without looking at anything, she thought out aloud, "So we need to interview the wife and give a notification at some point. We also need to interview his colleagues and get a warrant to search though his clientele list. And did Mike say anything about Brooks' phone? Perhaps he has another phone, besides the burner we found at the crime scene? Or a laptop?"

"I think the burner phone was too damaged for Mike to extract anything from it."

Sharon hummed again and then looked down at him with a soft smile, "Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

Andy grinned, took the empty mug and raised it, "A couple of hours – which is why I need more caffeine."

They had worked late yesterday, using overtime that Taylor would no doubt begrudge even if it was the beginning of a new case that was sure to get a lot of media attention. By the time they had all clocked out, everyone had been either excessively yawning or rapidly blinking.

Sharon tilted her head and then raised her own cup of coffee, "Rusty drank the rest of our coffee at home, so I had to get up without any caffeine at all. I stopped by that little Italian café you showed me last June on the way here. Do you think he felt bad about claiming the last coffee in any way? Oh no! He said, he 'needed' it more than me."

Andy laughed, "Kids, huh? He got the big test today, right?"

She hummed, "He slept less than me, I'm afraid."

Andy yawned but covered it with a hand, and then he said, "Well, I'm going to get started on the warrant for Brooks' clients then."

Sharon smiled at him, her hand touching his shoulder. It was an absent little touch, akin to an afterthought, her thumb slowly drawing circles.

"Maybe finish your breakfast first, hmm?" she said in a light tone with a look at his half eaten carton of yogurt.

Andy smiled sheepishly, "Yes, Ma'am."

She rolled her eyes at that and then went to the murder board.

Andy followed her, the carton of yogurt in one hand and the spoon in the other.

"So," he started, taking a spoonful and eating it, his eyes on her in profile and he noticed a pensive expression.

Sharon gave him a curious look, "So?" she repeated back in a question, taking a sip of her coffee cup.

Andy swallowed the yogurt and then pointed at the board with the spoon, "You reckon there's a connection between Brooks and the other victim?"

She hummed affirmatively, "It seems more than likely, doesn't it? Considering the case from December, I would say it's more than a coincidence. I need to have a talk with Doctor Morales. If this is the starting work of a serial killer – which seems highly likely by now – then I would like to know if we can find a body with a guilty one tattoo."

Sharon looked sideways at him, eyes sharp, "Also, we need to dig deeper with the double homicide in December. Robbery/Homicide might have reached a stalemate, but we have more resources at hand now."

Andy nodded, "Yeah, Renner still hasn't collected together all the files. I will go down and tell him to hurry up. I mean, the idiot's holding back the investigation!"

Sharon gave him a pointed look, "Or perhaps he is being considerate and making sure everything is collected to our satisfaction."

Andy huffed, "I doubt it. No one likes their case being handed over to someone else."

"You are only allowed to go down to Robbery/Homicide if you can be polite about it," Sharon told him with a smile on her lips.

"I can be polite alright," Andy grinned, "for you, I'll be extra polite."

Sharon shook her head, amused.

Andy went back to the case, seriousness to his tone, "You know, there is the possibility that a hypothetical first victim won't have the same distinct tattoo as the others. We might never find a first victim. Or maybe the roman numerals mean something else to the killer, maybe they are not a means of keeping tally."

"I know but it is a distinct and specific thing to tattoo on a victim. Guilty. And a number. Have you ever come across something reminiscent of this?"

Andy thought back, "It is very specific, but we've had a couple of creeps like this over the years. Some of them brand obscure terms or phrases on their victims and others keep tally. I've seen a number of lacerations or markings with allusions to religious lore. Back in the nineties there was the Repenter. He wrote 'sinner' with black magic marker on his victims."

Andy looked to the murder board and the four victims, "However, it's more permanent with a tattoo than a marker. It's also different from a laceration made with a knife. Perhaps the killer perceives the victims as guilty of something and the tattoo is a sentencing of sorts before killing them? That would be my guess."

Sharon hummed in agreement.

After a beat of silence, she wondered out aloud, "Or maybe the tattoos are unrelated to the killer; perhaps our victims all knew each other and had the tattoos together? As a part of some comradery? Or secret club?"

Andy hummed, two fingers against his chin, "Maybe. Didn't Morales say something about the tattoos being recent on our two victims from Saturday? I would wager it is the work of our killer and it is a sentencing and a tally."

Sharon nodded slowly, her eyes on him and one finger thoughtfully tapping her coffee cup.

"Perhaps we need to ask a tattoo expert on the design, though I don't want the discovery of the tattoos revealed to the public yet," she said.

Andy nodded.

"Also, is there significance to the tattoo being placed on the left wrist?" she wondered out loud.

"I have no idea. It probably has some significance to the killer but heck, that's gotta be some form of private logic."

Sharon nodded.

"We can ask around, discreetly, regarding the tattoo and the design," Andy told her and then took another spoonful of yogurt.

Sharon hummed in agreement and then as she turned, she squeezed his arm before she moved back to her office. The soft touch lingered on Andy's arm and once again he had to restrain himself from staring at her backside. He turned his attention on the murder board instead of Sharon Raydor walking back into her office.

About five minutes later, Sanchez arrived at the office. The younger man came in from the hallway with a quick stride and an expression that seemed less than patient to Andy. The younger man was finding it hard to be living with his mother again, and who could really fault him for that? Andy informed Julio of the morning's fresh findings Morales had provided.

Mike came in with his usual selection of Monday donuts in a large colorful box. The golden lettering on the side let everyone know it was one of the exclusive and expensive bakeries he had visited. The man threw a cheerful wave around the room, then happily settling in at his desk and opening up the box with the donuts.

Andy could only roll his eyes and pointed accusatorily at the box, "Divinity's Bakery! Really Mike?" Andy was sure the pastries could have paid for a small car.

Mike smiled obnoxiously wide in response, "I've bought a special croissant for you, Andy; dark chocolate filling."

Andy looked in the box, curious. And sure enough, there was a lonely croissant among the many donuts.

When Buzz strolled in, Andy was already halfway through his croissant and on his second mug of coffee.

Buzz walked past yawning and muttering about parking under his breath before he disappeared into electronics without as much as a glance at the donuts.

Mike was on his second donut when Amy strode in with a bounce. There was a secretive smile in her eyes that Andy was sure had more to do with Lieutenant Cooper than she would care to admit. She looked happy and well rested.

The last person to arrive was, without any surprise, Provenza. The older man walked into the room with a slow pace, a large Styrofoam coffee cup and an expression that seemed to convey he had gotten little to no sleep or was feeling extraneously grumpy about the world in general.

Great… Provenza and lack of sleep was a recipe for disaster if there ever was one.

"Who messed up my desk?" was the first accusatory thing out of Provenza's mouth.

Andy rolled his eyes but then hurriedly turned his back to the group. If Provenza established eye contact with Andy, the old man would no doubt blame Andy for the disorder.

"Good grief, Sykes, you're getting sugar crumbs on my desk!" Provenza accused Amy next.

Andy was sure he heard a couple of badly concealed sniggers from Julio.

"Do you want a donut, sir?" Amy played back in a decidedly sweet tone, not the least bit moved by Provenza and his sour mood. They were all used to it by now.

Provenza mumbled something incomprehensible, Andy was sure he heard a curse or two amongst the low-voiced words. He turned around on his chair and then addressed Amy with a grin, "Don't worry, I'm sure the old grumpy will feel better when he's had his late morning nap."

"Oh shut up Flynn, go back to your flipping hippie yogurt," Provenza growled at him.

Then the older man took a donut out of Mike's box, sat down, crossed his arms and glared around in challenge, waiting to see if anyone challenged him on this. It was then he saw the updated murder board.

"What the hell?" Provenza grumbled and then he scowled at everyone, "someone found the identity of one of our victims? And nobody told me?"

…


	10. Part 9

_What forms beyond clouds? Part 2_

The law firm of 'Garbles, Brooks and Hems' lay situated near the top floor in a stylish building complex with the lower floors housing various corporate businesses. The elevator ride gave Amy Sykes a headache and queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Or maybe the queasy feeling, and headache, had more to do with all the donuts she had eaten this morning threatening to make their way up.

The elevator doors opened up to a reception area with floors and pillars being a blend of sleek mahogany and cold metal. The reception desk was a large dark wooden construction, solid and cold to touch, with an all too pretty receptionist sitting behind it smiling broadly. Large windows displayed a view of the city that Amy could only admire with a snip of jealousy.

Amy looked sideways at her companion and suppressed a smile; Provenza looked far from amazed at the architecture.

He approached the desk with a sloughing stride that, against all odds, seemed purposeful. The receptionist started to welcome them but before she could say more than two words, Provenza interrupted her. He sent her off to look for one of the law firms' partners after displaying his badge. While they waited, the old man skimmed the brochures displayed on the reception desk. He had his glasses on and the infamous askew white hat made his forehead seem larger than normal.

Amy caught Provenza grumbling under his breath, something about 'load of bullshit.'

"What's the brochure about?" Amy asked curiously as she leaned closer.

"Bullshit," Provenza answered sourly and then sighed, showing Amy the front; it was advertisement for the firm, pretentious promises that no doubt followed an expensive retainer.

Amy grinned.

Going with Provenza on assignments always felt like a field trip to her, and she could always count on the older lieutenant wanting to stop for food on their way back to headquarters. All in all, it felt like a win-win situation when the Captain sent Amy off with Provenza.

John Hems, one of the firms partner's was quick to welcome them. The man, tall and lanky, dressed in a narrow expensive suit, came back with the secretary, smiling just as broadly.

"Detectives," the lawyer greeted them, the high, elated tone of his voice making Amy cringe, "I'm John Hems. What can I do for you?"

"Is there a place where we can talk in confidence?" Amy forcibly smiled, putting her expression into a welcoming countenance.

"Certainly, certainly," Hems said and then swept his arm back in the direction he had come from. "Let's talk in one of our conference rooms."

Amy and Provenza followed Hems.

The lawyer turned his torso around, his smile once again broadening, "Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water?"

"No thank you," Amy smiled, watching Provenza roll his eyes.

"How about some tea? We have a vast assortment of blends – from one of our overseas contributors?"

Before Amy could say no, the lawyer started listing off the blends;

"Lemon and ginger green tea? White tea with a touch of mulberry and papaya? How about some delicious Green Donghzhai Needle tea? Hmm, oh, I know it; we just got in a very special blend from Asia; a Top Sikkim Himalayan tea."

"I'm not much of a tea drinker, Mr Hems," Provenza interrupted the man.

The force of Amy's smile was beginning to weaken. You would have thought that comment from Provenza would have shot the man down but no. He continued while he held the door into the conference room open for the both of them to pass.

"Hear, hear," Hems smiled, "Though, I'm sure I can tempt you with a cold glass of Birchwood water?"

"No thank you, Mr. Hems," Amy told him again, mindful of the small impatient furrow that appeared between Provenza's eyebrows. "We're just fine. Now, how about you sit down and we can have a talk."

The man made a motion as if he wanted to walk out of the room but then with another cheerful smile, he sat down. Amy and Provenza sat down across from him.

The large conference room displayed windows that ran ceiling to floor and overlooked downtown Los Angeles.

Amy gave the lawyer a scrutinizing look. The man was crisply dressed in grey tones and behind big black spectacles were sharp eyes that darted from Provenza to her with a frequency that seemed to suggest that the man knew something was amiss. In any case, Amy felt the lawyer was trying to stall the best he knew how.

"Are you sure you don't want something to drink? Not even an espresso? – or maybe you want a -,"

"How well do you know Martin Brooks?" Provenza asked in a hard tone, cutting off the lawyer's continuous offers of drinks.

"Well – I mean, how well do you really know anyone?" Hems answered vaguely with a faked smile, "Do we really know anyone well? – besides ourselves, if even that?"

Amy saw Provenza roll his eyes at the philosophic evasion.

"I mean, the man has gone off without telling me anything about it," Hems clarified, "We had a meeting scheduled yesterday, you know. I called his wife, and she says he's missing. I say he's gone off on one of his usual trips. I assume that's why you're here? The wife reported Martin missing, right?"

"Usual trips?" Amy asked, curious.

"Oh," Hems waved a hand dismissively, "Sometimes Martin likes to go on impromptu vacation trips, dumping all of his work on me, or someone else who has not been with the firm long enough."

"When did you last see Mr. Brooks then?" Amy asked.

Hems looked at her and Amy had to suppress a disgusted sigh at the obligatory once-over the lawyer subjected her to once again. There was no mistaking where the man's eyes lingered longer.

Hems answered with a sleek smile, "That would be last Wednesday. The 18th of March. We have an annual seminar in medio March we host for a couple of corporations, on general law and such, and it usually goes from Monday to Wednesday."

"Did the seminar go as planned?" Amy tried to get the man to clarify.

"Oh, it went smoothly. Martin is a great planner and speaker. After the finishing lectures on Wednesday, a couple of us went to a nearby local wine bar. A fine establishment on fifth; Preciado, or something similar as I recall. Martin went with the rest of us, but halfway through ordering drinks, he got an important call from an old friend. I presume he went to meet up with this friend as he left after the phone call."

"When was this?"

Hems shrugged, "Around nine pm, or ten maybe."

"Do you know who this old friend was? Or where they met up?"

Hems shook his head, a smile on his lips that seemed perverted to Amy, "Martin and I don't socialize much outside work. All I know is that he left with a promise to buy the first round the next time."

Amy raised an eyebrow at Provenza as they shared a look; what a load of bullshit. The man was lying straight through his teeth. If they didn't socialize much, then why the heck had they gone out for drinks after the seminar had ended? That, and there was something about the sleek, polished smile constantly on the lawyer's face Amy disagreed with. Smug, that was it. The man was all too smug.

Provenza sighed in a drawn out breath and then fastened a narrowed glare on Hems, "Okay, you don't socialize with your partner. But what about Brooks' marriage? He and the wife get along? Surely you must know something about the man you work with on a daily basis?"

Hems shrugged, "Oh, you know, the usual that goes on with the wife. I got the impression Martin found his wife a bit boring if not bleak. He never talked much about her. But they seemed to get on well from what I've seen at company functions."

"Does he have affairs?" Amy asked, she tilted her head and made her voice sweeter.

Hems smiled, his bleached teeth were too white, "Martin saw a couple of girls now and then."

"Girls? As in what, prostitutes?" Provenza grumbled, his arms crossed and his lips curled in disdain.

"Oh, nothing like that," Hems waved a hand dismissively, "Martin likes to find dates on the internet. He showed me a couple of profiles a while back, just for the fun of it."

"What web sites does he frequent?" Amy leaned in across the table, her elbows on the table and a fake inviting smile plastered on.

"I can't remember," Hems replied with a lukewarm grin.

"What about Brooks' recent cases? Anything out of the ordinary happened? Like threats or angry phone calls?"

Hems shook his head, "Not that I know of. He won a lot of cases recently which gave a lot of good press for us. So things are looking up for the firm."

"Any cases of particular interest?" Amy asked.

Hems shrugged, "I don't know what would be of particular interest to the police."

"Did he lose a case after which a client became angry?"

Hems shook his head, "No, as I said, he won a lot of his recent cases."

Amy placed the picture of the first John Doe, a close up of the face, on the table. It was clear the person was dead but the features were still distinguishable.

She shoved the picture over to Hems, "Have you ever seen this person before?"

Hems looked closer at the picture and then he paled visibly. He nodded, and with a slightly trembling voice, he responded, "That's – oh, I can't remember his last name, but it's Bill! I'll have to find his last name in our records. But it's Bill! Martin defended him in court a couple of months back… they are old high school buddies, I think. Oh my god – is he dead? Is Martin dead? Is that why you're here?"

Amy sighed.

Even if the lawyer was something of a sleek snail, giving a notification required a lot of sympathy and forethought. They might have revealed that Martin Brooks was dead but at the least they now had an identity for their other victim.

"I am very sorry we have to tell you this," Amy started, holding a long pause, watching Hems take it in. He sat back in the chair, a hand to his temple and he visibly swallowed.

"We found the body of your law firm partner this weekend. We're investigating his death as suspicious," Provenza supplied.

After close to a quarter of an hour spent calming Hems down and making sure the lawyer knew he was given the notification in confidence, Hems went out and found the records for Martin Brooks' old school friend.

On the way back to headquarters, Amy drove the cruiser through traffic at a fast pace, her mind turning over the facts so far and the name they now had for John Doe One. Bill Lawrence. They would have to confirm the ID, naturally, but still, it was progress.

"What do you say, we get some lunch?" the older lieutenant offered from the passenger side, true to form.

Amy smiled to herself as she took a quick swerve that had the old man blinking, "Sounds neat, sir."

"Do you have to drive like a raging lunatic trying to escape a mental ward?" Provenza grumbled, but Amy knew there was no bite in the comment. It was simply the routine commentary the older man needed to point out every time Amy drove him anywhere.

"Sanchez likes my driving," Amy said with a playful smile.

"Of course he does," Provenza sighed, "he is also a raging lunatic."

Amy smiled to herself but slowed down for the lieutenant's sake. On the next swerve, Amy slowed even further down and added a pointed look sideways, "Is that better, lieutenant?"

Provenza rolled his eyes, "Don't mock your seniors, Sykes."

After a pause, Provenza spoke again;

"So – what'da ya want?"

"Burger and fries," Amy supplied, "And a milkshake."

"Geesh."

…


	11. Part 10

_What forms beyond clouds? Part 3_

Approaching midday, Andy Flynn made it a point to saunter into the squad room of Robbery/Homicide wearing a smirk. He zeroed in on Sergeant Renner who sat behind a cluster of folders on his desk in the back of the squad room. The whole room stank of stale coffee and sweat.

The old boys club.

"Hey," Andy barked at the younger man, barely keeping the postfix of 'idiot' from following his greeting, "we only have the one report on the Dennings/Reginald homicide. We still need everything else; evidence, logs, SID, autopsy notes."

Renner sighed dramatically and his baby blue eyes on Andy held a piercing disdain.

"I'm working on it," the younger detective said with a huff, and then he pointed at two boxes on the floor, filled with folders, "As you can see."

If Sharon was here, the little whelp would certainly adopt a more polite tone; as it was, the boy sounded constipated.

Andy crossed his arms and sneered, "All I can see is you taking your sweet time, Renner, that's what I am seeing. You better get a move on. I don't have all week to wait for your shuffling feet."

"I am well within the appropriate time frame for passing on case details to another division," the little idiot replied as sourly as if he had bitten into a lemon.

Andy laughed, "What – are you a rulebook now? If you want, I can refer you to internal affairs? I'm sure they have a job opening or two for a rulebook scout boy."

Renner narrowed his eyes, "I am not the one working for I.A."

Andy ignored the dig at his Captain. Instead he sighed, "What's taking you so long? It's two boxes for Christ's sake! Not like it's rocket science."

Renner sniffed, "I have other cases as well."

Andy rolled his eyes and then glanced around the squad room, crossing his arms. There were a lot of newcomers but also a couple of veterans like himself. Andy saluted Carl Bremen who waved back. The older sergeant had been around for a lifetime. A dinosaur like the rest of the veterans.

Renner narrowed his eyes and then angrily bit out, "I will get the files to you – as soon as possible."

"Sir," Andy flippantly responded as he looked back at the sergeant with a smug smile.

"What?" Renner pouted, well aware what Andy wanted.

"You mean, as soon as possible, sir."

"Yes, sir," Renner bit out, and then in a show of bravado, "I see your reputation does you justice, Flynn; still as annoying as ever, huh."

Andy shrugged with a faked smile, "Yeah, it's part of my charm."

"What charm would that be, huh Flynn?" Carl Bremen joined in with a jolly laugh, "talking out your ass?"

Andy turned around and then quirked one eyebrow, "My natural charm, the ladies dig it," he relayed back.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Andy saw Renner narrow his eyes in annoyance.

"How's the old stink hole anyway?" Andy asked Bremen.

"Oh you know, same old, same old," Bremen answered and then with his bearded chin, he pointed at Renner, "a couple of newcomers, and the occasional turf war with the Gang Unit… and then we have Stapples breathing down our necks."

"Stapples, huh?" Andy hummed. The sergeant had seemed more than capable to Andy the few times he had met the I.A man.

Bremen cleared his throat, "Yeah, you know – he's not as much of a pain in the ass as Darth - ," Bremen paused to clear his throat again and then gave a nervous smile, "Erm, hmm, you know who."

Andy pursed his lips, "You know who?" He pretended not to know who Bremen was talking about. Damn, this was worth a couple of laughs. Three years on and Sharon Raydor still instilled fear in people like she used to in Internal Affairs.

Bremen looked a bit pale and uncomfortable.

"He's talking about Darth Raydor," Renner supplied with a slick smile, "She must have mellowed, huh? I hear she is divorced now."

Andy could feel his jaw clench in annoyance, "Yeah, good riddance, Renner. You really are something of a gossip. No wonder you don't get anything done."

"I wouldn't mind having her as my boss," Renner smiled vengefully, obviously clued in on Andy's clenched jaw and that it meant he was rather protective of his boss.

Renner raised a challenging eyebrow, "At least she's pretty on the eyes, hmm."

Andy expelled a breath and silently counted to ten in his head. He could hear Sharon's voice telling him all those anger management classes had paid off, and he smiled to himself, imagining her small knowing smile that no one would catch but him.

Andy shrugged and then gave the sergeant a quirked eyebrow back, "I'll be sure to tell that to the Captain, Renner, I'm sure she will appreciate your compliment."

Renner looked skittish at the notion, but before the sergeant could say anything further, Bremen interrupted with an uncomfortable laugh,

"So, how is it, Flynn? Working under her, I mean."

Andy shrugged. Robbery/Homicide would never come to comprehend the many layers behind the former Internal Affairs Captain. And as far as Andy was concerned, it was their loss.

"Pure bliss. We haven't had a law suit in years," Andy answered the two idiots with an easy smile.

He then gestured at Renner with two fingers, "Now, unless Renner here stops picking his nose and gets his ass together, I am gonna send the Captain down here herself. Then you can see for yourself how you like working for her, huh?"

"So the Captain sent you down here to ride my ass?" Renner spit out.

"Nah, I volunteered," Andy replied back, "Your ass is a mighty fine one to ride."

"Ah, give the poor boy a rest, Flynn," Bremen intervened, "You know how it goes when cases are hijacked by the higher ups."

Andy rolled his eyes, "All I know is that Renner is starting to get on my nerves."

Renner huffed, "I think working for Raydor has gotten to you; next you are going to be defending the rat squad."

"I'd watch that attitude of yours Renner; I am in tight with professional standards now – you don't wanna another spot on your record do you?"

"Ha," Bremen snorted and then quickly soured when Andy gave him a glare.

"Just hurry up, Renner, and give the lieutenant what he needs," Bremen said to the sergeant and then went back to his own desk again, eyeing Andy with curiosity.

Renner glared at Andy but the younger man wised up and kept quiet. In less than five minutes everything was collected and right after Andy was on his merry way back to his own squad room with the two boxes.

Finally, Andy could begin to look into the December murders and make some sense of the case.

…

A/N: Thank you all for the feedback. Happy you're enjoying the story =)


	12. Part 11

_What forms beyond clouds? Part 4_

By late afternoon, the case was starting to pick up speed; the identity of both disemboweled victims had moved the investigation along considerably. All through the day, the sun had burned hot through the window panes and the afternoon saw the squad room in a cluster of papers and folders, the buzz of telephone calls and keyboards clicking with the occasional grunts and sighs. The room was warm with the scent of afternoon coffee, freshly brewed and brought out from the break room by Buzz.

Mike Tao lounged back in his chair and turned away from his computer screen. He covered a yawn and worked the kinks in his neck before he addressed the team.

"I found something interesting," Mike started. He waited a breath as everyone looked up.

Once he knew he had their attention, he continued, "Now, both Martin Brooks and Bill Lawrence have a sealed juvenile record from 1983. They were 15 at the time."

Julio swiveled around on his chair to better face him. The other detective had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and undone the top buttons of his shirt as the day had progressed. "Juvenile records? Both of them? Sounds suspicious."

Mike tapped a few keys and changed the screen back to the old records he had found collecting dust in some obscure corner of the internet, "Suspicious, yes I'd daresay. It's a rather dicey connection between the two."

Martin Brooks, as it turned out, had a long list of questionable clients with Bill Lawrence among them.

Amy Sykes joined the conversation from her own desk, "So not only are Bill and Martin old high school friends and Martin recently represented Bill in a lawsuit, and won on meager grounds from what I can read, but they also both had sealed juvenile records?"

"And they both ended up dead with their entrails hanging out," Julio stated with an askew smile, "I'm thinking revenge killing. It takes guts," here Julio paused and the dark smile grew, "to pull guts out of people."

Mike shook his head at the humor but he felt the corners of his own mouth turn upwards.

"Revenge for what, exactly? Brooks' defense of Lawrence in court? Or revenge that has something to do with the sealed juvenile record?" Provenza commented from behind his crossword puzzle, the newspaper held up in front of him, while his legs rested on the edge of his desk.

"Both could be motives," Mike supplied.

Provenza lowered the newspaper, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe it's something completely different; something personal. Maybe the wife found out about the affairs? Maybe Old Billy boy was in on the affairs? Hmm?"

Mike caught Amy rolling her eyes, a smile prominent on her lips.

"Maybe," Mike shrugged, not really convinced it was as simple as that.

Mike quickly highlighted the case number on the page on his screen and then informed the others, "I think the juvenile record might play a larger role. It's the same case number on the records for both men and the recent lawsuit against Bill Lawrence was in connection to stalking and assault charges, right."

"So maybe whoever Bill Lawrence stalked and beat up, decided to take matters into their own hands when the case was dismissed in court," Andy said from his desk. He was turning pages in the many folders from the December case, trying to tie it together with Brooks and Lawrence.

"That would be Daisy Higgs," Amy quickly provided, "and the case only got dismissed because an eyewitness changed their testimony at the last moment."

Mike shook his head in sadness at that piece of information, the action mirrored in Julio's darkened expression and the downturned mouth on Andy.

"Oh, it doesn't get any more questionable than that; eyewitnesses changing their testimony at the very last moment," Provenza commented with a dramatic flair as he swiveled on his chair. "I would bet my pension that there was either blackmail or bribery involved."

"Possibly, but it gets worse," Amy agreed, her eyes on the procedural readings from the trial in her hands. "Daisy Higgs lost her job because of a broken arm and other injuries from the assault. She missed out on a lot of work. She worked the nightshift at a local factory and when she was fired, she lost her health insurance as well. Her lawyer was working pro bono on the case."

"Where is Daisy now?" Andy asked.

"Good question, lieutenant," Amy replied with a sad look, "homeless, I think. There's no forwarding address and she lost the apartment she used to live in when she couldn't pay rent."

"Maybe her lawyer will know where she is," Andy shrugged, "who was the prosecutor?"

"A…," Amy looked down in her notes, "- a Gavin Q Baker. The third."

Andy chuckled and then expelled an amused, "Damn."

Provenza let out an anguished groan and Mike could not help but smile at their antics, sharing a look with Julio who also found their behavior amusing.

"What?" Amy looked around confused, "You all know this Mr Baker?"

"You could say that," Andy grinned playfully. "Mr. Baker, the Third mind you, defended me back in the day and," here Andy lowered his voice, "he happens to go out with our Captain, occasionally."

"What? Who?" Amy turned around to look at the empty office of the Captain, "Captain Raydor? She's dating a lawyer?"

Mike shook his head; Amy was clueless at times.

Provenza rolled his eyes and then loudly proclaimed, his voice gleeful, "God no, Sykes. Gavin Baker is gay. And for the record, Sykes, whatever the Captain does in her free time it's none of our business."

The old man was not looking at Sykes but glaring at Flynn, "And I'm sure the Captain would like to give Mr. Baker a call herself once she gets back from…," Provenza looked around. "Where the hell is she?"

"Meeting with Taylor and Pope," Andy said without preamble and then shrugged when Provenza continued to glare at him.

Provenza grumbled something inaudibly.

Amy spoke up, "Do we really think that Daisy Higgs, who is 5.4 and in poor health by the way, managed to lure both Martin Brooks and Bill Lawrence to Griffith Park and then killed both men?"

Mike answered, "I wouldn't say it was beyond the realm of possibilities. We have seen a number of murders committed where the killer was of slight built and appeared to be physically unable to kill anyone but managed to anyway. Maybe Daisy had help? Maybe she hired a contracted killer?"

"With no money?" Amy shot back. "Hitmen don't exactly go around doing work pro bono."

"Doctor Morales said the men were likely drugged, right?" Julio intervened.

"Yeah," Andy replied, "Only the toxicology report won't be in until next month, so we won't know for sure."

"If she drugged them – with sedatives – it is possible for her to have done it. Though there is still the question about how she got both men out to the Park? And why were the bodies killed miles apart?" Mike wondered, "And why disembowelment as a method of killing? It's a very messy, direct method."

"Maybe Martin Brooks tried to get away and he ran through the park before she caught up with him?" Julio wondered out aloud.

"Everything you've said Mike, makes sense if we look at the disembowelment as a contained event, but what about the double homicide from December? How does it fit in?" Andy asked. "I mean, if Daisy Higgs is a suspect, then we have to assume she killed the two men in December as well. From what I can tell, there's no link between the two men from December and Lawrence and Brooks."

Mike leaned back in his chair, pensive, "No link at all?"

Andy cleared his throat, "There's no direct link as far as I can tell. The similarities in the two double homicides are uncanny though. We have two double homicides, all four men in their late forties and then we have the Lawyer/Client angle in both murders as well. Dennings was a lawyer and Brooks was a lawyer and they were both defending their clients on charges of stalking and battery of some kind and," Andy briefly turned a page in the initial report from Lieutenant Renner, "… and in both cases the lawsuits were otherwise dismissed."

"We're definitely talking about a vigilante killer then," Julio intervened. "Someone who doesn't agree with what the court ruled. Or maybe someone who knows both Daisy Higgs and the other woman who was assaulted."

"That seems highly likely," Mike agreed, "or it could be a copy-cat killer? The two cases could be separate?"

"The existence of the guilty tattoos weren't made public in December," Andy replied, looking thoughtful, "Although, looking at the method of killing, then it could be two separate murders. Dennings and Reginald died from a very high overdose of opiates."

Mike hummed, taking in all the new information.

Andy continued talking, "James Reginald from December had a long history of drug abuse, battery charges and domestic violence and a reputation of being a not so nice man. In contrary to that, Bill Lawrence appeared to be well-liked on the surface. Before the court case against him, there were no other complaints sans the juvenile record."

"Perhaps Bill Lawrence was better at hiding his true nature. The sealed juvenile record seems to suggest so," Mike ventured.

"We need to compile a list of suspects for the December case as well," Provenza said. "Starting with the girl who lost the lawsuit. Let's focus on her and Daisy Higgs for now, and their close relatives and friends. Maybe Daisy Higgs had a boyfriend at the time, or a brother."

"And we need another warrant," Andy sighed, "For Denning's law practice and clients."

Provenza nodded, "Until all the warrants go through, let's first see what the wives have to say about their husbands. Hmm. Patrol is bringing in Mrs. Lawrence and Mrs. Brooks about now."

Provenza put aside his crossword puzzle and then waved a hand at Mike to get the murder board covered.

Mike quickly got up from his chair and grabbed the control to get the boards covered, taking the opportunity to stretch his back.

…


	13. Part 12

_What forms beyond clouds? Part 5_

Buzz Watson sat peacefully in the electronics room by himself, watching the interviews of the two widows being conducted. Wife number one, Jessica Lawrence, sat across from Julio and Mike, while wife number two, Penelope Brooks, sat across from Provenza and Amy Sykes.

Lieutenant Flynn had gone off somewhere and the Captain was in a meeting. It left Buzz sitting alone in electronics with his headphones on as he listened to Provenza and Sykes ask about Martin Brooks and his school years. Penelope had married the guy straight out of high school. The woman seemed a bit jittery seeing her eyes kept darting to the side. She obviously felt nervous about something. But then again, being a civilian himself Buzz could relate to the situation; being interviewed by the police in one of their interview rooms was a nerve-racking experience in itself certainly.

The door into the electronics room opened and Buzz looked up. Of all the people in the building, it was Doctor Morales and not quite someone Buzz expected to stick their head into electronics. The doctor was wearing a suit in a shade of dark blue with a light grey shirt underneath.

Buzz took off his head phones, "Can I help you, Doctor?"

"Oh," the man put a hand in the air, smiling. "I was just looking for Captain Raydor? Is she in an interview?" Morales came further into the room so he could look at the screens, the door closing behind him.

"No, she is in a meeting with Chief Taylor and Chief Pope, I think."

"Oh," the doctor looked at the screens, "So is that…?"

"The widows," Buzz supplied.

"Oh," the doctor hummed and then surprised Buzz once again by sitting down on the chair closest to Buzz, emitting a little hum.

After a second or two of watching the monitors, the doctor swiveled on the chair and faced Buzz with a broad smile, "Do you know when she will be back?"

Buzz shook his head, his gaze drawn to the checkered black and blue matte tie the doctor had donned. Buzz liked the whole ensemble. It was certainly more stylish than his own sweater and nondescript pants.

"Do you knit?" the doctor asked him, the weird question seeming to come out of the blue.

"Erm, excuse me?" Buzz said with a raised eyebrow, catching the doctor's eye directly on his sweater of the day; it was a knit but most certainly not self-knitted. Buzz could feel his mouth turn upwards at the notion.

"Oh never mind, I just thought…," the doctor gave another easy-going smile. After a prolonged pause, Morales spoke again, this time with a little shrug, "Never mind. I shall wait for the Captain."

Buzz smiled politely and then reached out to put sound over the speakers. The other man leaned back in the chair and turned his attention back to the monitors.

They listened to Provenza and Sykes for a short moment before Morales started talking again.

"You are training to be in the reserve, right?"

Buzz nodded, "Yes."

"Well, how is it? Is it exciting? Do you practice shoot?"

Buzz's smile widened.

Every time he so much as mentioned training in the reserve, Provenza would either ignore the comment with an eye roll or make a snide comment about it. Buzz was beginning to think the older lieutenant had a grudge against the reserve people in general. For once, someone seemed to be asking Buzz about the reserve with actual interest.

Buzz smiled excitedly and answered, "It's going well so far, only, and I'm having a bit of trouble with my aim when it comes to shooting. I don't like guns that much." He said the last with a shrug and a smile.

Morales nodded, "You and me both; too much of a work hazard, I guess."

"Exactly," Buzz agreed with another smile.

"Do you enjoy art?" Morales asked Buzz.

"Well, I suppose," Buzz shrugged and he wondered how that question related to being in the reserve.

Morales smiled even wider and tilted his head, his eyes on Buzz. "You know, I have two tickets for an art exhibit this Friday, overseas artists – European artists mostly. It should be a hoot."

"Oh," Buzz replied. The whole thing seemed weirdly absurd – in a good fashion, somehow.

"There'll be free bubbly and appetizers," Morales raised a cheerful eyebrow, his eyes on Buzz with an intensity that felt slightly overwhelming.

To Buzz it felt like an invitation out of the blue.

Though on second thought, the doctor seemed to be everywhere Buzz looked as of late. Also, there was that whole indecipherable incident back in early January. The Police Commissioner's annual New Year's Soiree was usually a quiet affair and Buzz had stood off to one side, sipping some cheap champagne that technically should not be allowed to be called champagne. The team had scattered and Provenza had just left, leaving Buzz essentially alone. Not for long though, as Buzz recalled. The doctor had joined him, and held up a rather entertaining conversation for the rest of the night.

It just reinforced what Buzz already had thought about before in regards to himself and his social life; he was a fool when it came to recognizing when someone was flirting with him. Obviously he needed neon signs flashing – or being directly asked out.

"I don't have anything planned for this weekend," Buzz said with a little smile, "I mean – are you asking me out on a date?"

Morales smiled and simply answered in a confidant voice, "Yes."

"Oh."

Buzz quickly averted his look and instead stared at the monitors, trying to hide his expression of surprise, and on a deeper level, joy.

The last time he had been out on a date was too long ago to even mention.

"Okay," Buzz turned his head with a nod, a slight blush warming his cheeks.

"It's a date," Morales punctuated with a smile and joyous tone.

After a brief pause, the silence eerily awkward as they both looked at the monitors and the interviews, the doctor spoke again, "Have I ever told you about that one time I got shot at, in Nevada?"

Buzz shook his head but the question was more rhetorical because Doctor Morales continued, "I was out working for a friend of mine, a peculiar case. The body was skinned alive -," the doctor continued talking but Buzz did not hear much of it, he blanched out at the image of someone being skinned alive.

Morales leaned conspiratorially closer, his eyes gleaming, "And then, out of nowhere, shots were fired left and right – and my friend; who's extremely level headed under fire, logs us behind the cover of a shelf -,"

Buzz hummed but he was more fascinated by the smile on the doctor's face; thin, lean lips that tugged into an excited smile, though half morbid considering the topic.

"As it turned out, the murder was punishment for rape," Morales continued, "the victim was hanged from his ankles and then drained of blood before his skin was peeled off. You see, if you nick the carotid arteries in the neck, and you hang upside down, you bleed out pretty quick and then -,"

Buzz smiled weakly but he quickly forgot about the gory details; he had never really considered the eye color of the doctor before. Up close the color drew him in. The color seemed deep and dark, the crinkled skin at the sides and the smile beneath that curled markedly upwards only made the expression more poignant.

Maybe the doctor fascinated Buzz more than he had realized.

…


	14. Part 13

_What forms beyond clouds? Part 6_

Sharon Raydor covered a yawn with the back of her hand as she made her way down the hallway from Chief Taylor's office. The monthly budget meeting with Chief Taylor in person, and Chief Pope pretentiously interrupting over the intercom, was thankfully over and done. It had been a jawbreaker this time and, even though working on a short patience, she had managed to stop herself from snapping at the two men. She also managed to engineer in a snarky comment about professional standards and promises of promotions that led nowhere. That had surprisingly kept the two men from saying more on the subject of Major Crimes latest overtime crisis. If Sharon wanted to actually attain the rank of commander, like promised, then she had to remind the two eggheads what they had promised her.

Sharon smiled to herself; Andy Flynn's colorful vocabulary had a tendency to sneak into her thoughts, especially when it concerned the two chiefs.

After a brief talk with Lieutenant Provenza on the phone, Sharon was up to date on the progress with their case. She was making her way back to the squad room when a familiar voice stopped her by the elevator.

"There you are, darling," Gavin Q Baker greeted her with a sweet cadence as he leaned against the wall next to the elevator. The lawyer gave her the obligatory onceover and approving, his eyebrow arched, "Here I was beginning to think you were avoiding me on purpose."

Sharon raised an eyebrow in confusion as she approached her old friend, "Avoiding you? Why would I be avoiding you?"

"Your _sweet, sweet_ subordinates left a peculiar message on my phone about a recent case of mine," Gavin's voice took on a sharp tone, "and between the lines, it sounded like they think my client is somehow responsible for two murders. You didn't answer your phone, darling, and I tried it at least ten times – I even left you a couple of messages about those lieutenants of yours, and their badly veiled accusations, and how that will hold up in court."

Sharon sighed.

Her phone had beeped several times during the meeting, now she knew why.

Gavin continued his rant, "Three years on, darling, and you have yet to instill the tiniest speck of diplomacy into your squad," he huffed with a headshake, "Frankly, I'm disappointed. I thought you would rule them with an iron fist." Gavin demonstrated this with his hands, and then continued talking, "not this sloppy slappy thing you have going," he concluded this rant by throwing out his arm dramatically.

Sharon rolled her eyes demonstratively, and when she was within reach she gave him a half hug, only half succeeding in keeping laughter out of her voice, "Oh, poor you."

"Well, hello there," Gavin greeted her in an amused tone as he hugged her back and kissed her cheek. His aftershave was a familiar scent that reminded Sharon of past evenings spent snuggling up to the man as they watched television, and of nights spent walking arm in arm, inebriated by mojitos and exuberance.

Sharon sneaked her arm through his, and she gave him a soft smile, "Walk with me to my office and I will explain everything to your satisfaction, Counselor."

"My pleasure, Officer," Gavin offered back with a genuine smile, eyes crinkled behind his spectacles.

"You look divine, by the way darling," Gavin leaned in and whispered just as they crossed the threshold into the squad room of Major Crimes.

Sharon smiled, but she hid it when Lieutenant Provenza looked up with a scowl, his eyebrows rising impossibly higher when he saw who was in tow; Provenza never cared much for lawyers in general. Provenza turned his gaze up high, but he was quickly engrossed in his folders again. Andy on the other hand looked up from his desk with a broad smile; however it changed to a more demure one when he noticed Gavin by her side.

Sharon could have slapped the two lieutenants; she was certain they were to blame for the less than cordial message to Gavin.

Sharon prodded Gavin to walk into her office first and gestured at her old friend to take a seat before she closed the door behind her. She drew down the blinds, throwing in a little assuring wave in Andy's direction before the blinds were down.

"That oaf out there was the one who called me," Gavin said in an affronted voice.

Sharon turned around, hands on her hips and pretended ignorance with a hum, "Hmm? What oaf?"

"The oaf! – the bullheaded one, that oaf," Gavin exclaimed with a gesture at the closed blinds in the direction of Andy's desk.

"That doesn't narrow it down for me, Gavin," Sharon said and pursed her lips. She took off her blazer and put it on the back of the chair before she took a seat behind her desk. She kept her elbows on the surface and her hands together as she gave her old friend a serene look.

"Whatever," Gavin sighed and threw a dismissive wave.

Sharon gave him a sagely smile.

Gavin then leaned in across the desk, his eyes curiously on her chest, "Are you wearing what I think you're wearing?" he deliberately paused to give her a saucy look, "Oh my."

Sharon barely kept her hands from flittering to cover her chest. She had unbuttoned two buttons in her shirt after the budget meeting, and apparently without the blazer, Gavin could tell what she was wearing underneath. She found herself blushing and tried to hide it as she quickly looked sideways, "I don't know what you mean."

Gavin clapped his hands together delighted, "Oh my, ohh. At work nonetheless, darling? I admire you, you know. You are by all accounts, a woman of my heart."

Sharon rolled her eyes at the display he threw on, "Of course I'm, occasionally, going to wear the underwear you gave me for Christmas. Today it just happens I forgot laundry and it was the only thing left in my drawer."

"Mmhmm," was the reply; he looked as unconvinced about her little lie as she felt.

"So," Sharon tried to turn the subject away from her underwear, "about your client and the law suit – we believe - ,"

Gavin interrupted her, his expression closed as he leaned back and crossed his arms. "My sweet, innocent client, Daisy Higgs, is nowhere near capable of killing two men. Although if she did kill those two despicable men, I would say, off the record, 'good on you, dear'."

"Still, we would like to talk to Daisy and officially affirm her alibi. Maybe she can tell us a bit more about the stalking and the lawsuit. It could help us move our investigation along."

"Frankly I haven't seen her since the case was dismissed in court and by the end of it, she was living in a homeless shelter."

Sharon nodded, "Which shelter?"

"One of the south east ones, I think," Gavin answered and then he exclaimed, mildly annoyed, "Sharon – you can't think she had anything to do with it?"

"It's inconclusive at the moment," she answered evasively.

Gavin rolled his eyes, "My, my, you think I've had something to do with it then?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Gavin," Sharon shook her head, "you can't stand the sight of blood. I have a hard time imagining you splitting open the stomach of anyone."

Gavin made a grimace, "Ack."

"Precisely."

"So," Gavin started, his voice taking on a snippy tone, "are we still on for Friday? Because if you cancel on me at the very last second again, I might resort to, oh, I don't know – blackmail or something equally atrocious."

Sharon shook her head, "I won't cancel on you. And if I do, it's only because murder triumphs -,"

"- fun," Gavin interrupted her, "Murder triumphs fun. You are no fun, Princess."

"I am all kinds of fun," Sharon disagreed with a smile, "and don't call me Princess."

"I would agree but the lack of evidence, aah... When was the last time you had any sort of fun? Hmm?"

Sharon laughed, "Oh get over yourself. I might have cancelled on you the last two times but before that you were the one who cancelled, because of a client or a court date or something. You were rather vague about it as I recall."

"I had a date."

"In court?"

Gavin rolled his eyes, "No, I had a date with another lawyer. Handsome fella, and oh, you would have drooled at the sight of his abs, Sharon. Gorgeous, I tell you, and very firm to touch."

"How did it go?" Sharon leaned closer, excited on his behalf.

"Let's just say I will be taking another advice from your romance book and not go for lawyers again, ever. Too much bother. Drama queens, the whole herd. Though, unlike you, I am not going to go completely celibate."

Sharon huffed.

There was a knock on her door and Sharon grinned as Gavin sat more upright, his legs crossed and his smile so very artificial as he directed a scowl at the door and at Amy who poked her head in; he abhorred interruptions.

…


	15. Part 14

**27th****Marts 2015**

**Friday**

**Los Angeles**

_What keeps you up at night? Part 1_

…

Sharon Raydor stood in the empty break room and absent-mindedly watched the dance of a single dust mote in the air, afternoon sunlight reflected on the small speck. She pressed her lips together to suppress a yawn.

The only noise was the coffee machine howling; it was in a dire need of descaling. Otherwise, it was quiet; her team was working on the case like quiet little busy bees. The scent of coffee snuck its way across the room and Sharon was already looking forward to the first sip of the fresh caffeinated liquid. Surely, it would bring her out from her stupor?

So far, the week had been long and tiresome. Even if it was approaching the early afternoon hours, today had the feeling of being never-ending. Sharon recalled eating breakfast at the crack of dawn this morning and yet, it was an event that felt like it was yesterday. When they received a case in the weekend and spent a large proportion of that weekend, and the following days, trying to solve it, Sharon's sense of time always became warped. The days had felt crammed despite not working overtime since Sunday.

It was also the prospect of what lay ahead that had her feeling a little overwhelmed. She wanted to catch up on sleep, but there was the Art Exhibit with Gavin scheduled for later on in the evening, and, if her old friend was true to form, that event would see Sharon home in the middle of the night, semi tipsy.

Friday was a day for summarizing and gearing up for the following week. It was more administrative work than the other days, and during investigations, like now, Friday tended to drag on. The ongoing murder case was dragging its feet like dead weight. It was a stalemate. There was no new forthcoming information, and the little information they had discovered was not enough to arrest anyone. If Major Crimes got another rollout, that would take precedence without a doubt.

They were still waiting for the full autopsy report, and that could take weeks, if not months. The definitive cause of death, DNA samples and whatever else the report would reveal, could shed further light on the case. If Brooks and Lawrence were somehow drugged then that could be a clue to lead the investigation forward by searching the databases for recent suspicious purchases of specific pharmaceuticals. As it was, calling various hospitals for inventory and reported stolen items was meaningless without a definitive drug.

It was frustrating, but she had learned to live with it. Not every case that came across their murder board was going to be solved, and not every case was solved within a short time frame.

Sharon remembered a night, years prior, where she had vented her frustrations on this subject to Andy. He had then listed off, one by one, the various cases close to his heart that remained unresolved or had taken half of his life to solve. It had been a somber conversation, but in the end, she took from it what stood out; determination. Instead of falling to resignation, Andy was more determined than ever to do his work.

Still, it was frustrating to let a case go. To put it on the backburner until something new showed up; which usually tended to be more victims. Sharon knew that if they did not solve this case now, then sooner or later, they would be staring at more bodies with those distinct tattoos. Andy called it a gut feeling.

Then, to top her list of frustrating events, there was the matter of Philip Stroh. The escape of a serial killer was not a major crime; no. Stroh had been in the custody of the DA's office and, as such, it was their responsibility. Major Crimes was expressly ordered to stay away from Stroh. Chief Taylor had made it a point to tell Sharon once a week as if the man was afraid she would go on a vindictive rampage.

Sure, let the eggheads, who let the man escape in the first place, be in charge of finding him again. To Sharon it was illogical. Emma Rios was only the messenger, the top brass of the DA's office and Mayor the driving force behind it. If Sharon had been in Internal Affairs, she would have started an independent investigation on the whole matter. She was of a half mind to call in favors with the I.A department, but she knew it was not likely to happen. Incompetence was only audited if the general public demanded it, or a law suit was imminent.

Sharon pursed her lips in annoyance. Just the thought of Philip Stroh made a swift, burning anger sweep through her body. Fear had been prominent at first, but now it was a low simmer, easily extinguished and replaced by anger. For that she was glad, she hated being afraid.

The dust mote settled on the surface counter and after staring at it for a minute, Sharon blew air at it. She watched the mote swirl upwards in a wild cylindrical wave and then once again it swayed from side to side as it fell down.

"Is the indomitable Sharon Raydor blowing air at dust motes?" Andy Flynn commented from behind her and Sharon jumped, half-frightened from his sudden voice.

Sharon turned around with a guilty smile, her eyes taking in the figure of her lieutenant in the door opening. Andy leaned against the frame with a casual smirk, his arms loosely crossed and one eyebrow arching high at her.

Sharon wondered how long he had been standing in the doorway observing her. Today saw Andy in a light grey suit, pastel purple shirt and a geometric printed tie in silver tones. The man knew how to dress; a fact Sharon could appreciate.

"Are you sneaking up on me, Lieutenant Flynn?" Sharon tilted her head and pursed her lips to stop herself from smiling and giving away her amusement.

Andy took a step closer, the door closing behind him.

He spread out his arms and pretended surprise, "Never."

"Good," Sharon nodded with a smile.

"Provenza is complaining about the lack of coffee. He's wondering what is taking so long, now I know and I should tell him," Andy grinned, and continued with a nod behind him in the direction of the squad room, "The old fart thinks you've forgotten how to brew coffee. I told him the only one going senile was him."

"If Lieutenant Provenza made coffee for everyone instead then there would be no reason for him to complain," Sharon replied with a narrowed glare out to the squad room. She briefly entertained the thought of marching out there and telling the old lieutenant he could make his own damn coffee.

"You disappeared half an hour ago," Andy tilted his head, his eyes full of concern, "You alright?"

Sharon nodded with a little forced smile.

Andy didn't look convinced, but bless the man, he did not press her.

Sharon turned and gave the coffee machine a quick look. She held her breath and held back a raging monologue about Stroh's escape.

She let out a small sigh, mindful of Andy's presence.

Andy came up next to her, his hands on the counter as he gave her a sideways glance and a comforting smile that warmed Sharon to her core. His smile was unassuming and without intentions; it held her in an embrace. She took it for the rarity it presented and she smiled back.

Sharon watched his hands brace themselves on the counter, noting the familiar rings and wrist band that carried a lot of history, and the cuff links that matched his outfit. His hands had become something of a mesmerizing thing to watch. The knuckles that tensed and paled when he became incensed, fisted by his side when he was on the verge of losing control, white but firm around his Smith&amp;Wesson when he took aim. Andy Flynn had big hands and long fingers, and the skin had been warm to touch the few times he had touched her cheek. It had been brief touches – and so far it had only happened twice.

When Sharon looked up, Andy's eyes were on her, wondering.

"It's been a long week," Sharon commented, her own smile imitating his, "I seem to find myself staring into space more often than not."

"You're not alone," Andy said. "Provenza quit the daily crossword puzzle because he couldn't think straight. Mike fell asleep for a short while and Julio is now functionally mute."

Sharon smiled.

After a brief pause, Andy continued in a low voice, "So, how about some luxury, hmm? I was thinking dinner. Maybe we can find a place with live jazz, if you're in the mood? Or I can make you dinner at my place? Or yours? Whatever you feel like."

Andy Flynn offering to cook her dinner was one of those little things that settled like molten fire, low in her stomach. When he also sported an expectant twinkle in his eyes and a contagious smile, it melted her. Not to mention the less than subtle way he closed more of the distance between them.

Someday, Sharon knew, she would have to reflect on the enigma of Andy Flynn and what he woke in her. Today was not that day. It required an amount of courage she had yet to gather.

"That sounds lovely Andy, but," Sharon watched his expression change. Excitement dissipated with a small twitch to his smile.

"But?" he interrupted and pushed his shoulder gently against hers, Cheshire smile back in full force.

"I already have plans for tonight, unfortunately. Gavin is taking me to an Art Exhibit," Sharon told him with an apologetic smile.

Andy nodded and then he gave her a knowing look, "But you would rather go home, soak in the tub and read a book before bedtime?"

Sharon smiled and then gave him a push back with her shoulder, "A little bit, I must admit."

Andy smiled – and he continued to look at her, something deeper beyond his gaze.

"Raincheck," Sharon told him, amused, "and I'll hold you to it."

Andy quirked an eyebrow, "You just want someone to make you dinner, hmm."

"True," she replied.

The coffee machine came to a stop with a sputter.

Andy pushed her reaching hand away and barred her access to the cabinet. Sharon rolled her eyes at his demeanor. The man made a show of opening the cabinet and finding a cup. Before Sharon could protest, Andy filled her favorite orange cup with coffee and offered her the cup with a smug look.

Sharon took a sip of the scalding hot coffee and sighed in pleasure. She sipped while she watched Andy fill his own cup with coffee.

"You know," Andy started as he looked at her over the rim of the cup, "you're throwing around a lot of 'rainchecks' these days." His voice was light and teasing.

"Hmm," Sharon hummed, "You are right. You already owe me home made gelato, and now live jazz and dinner as well."

Andy nodded.

Sharon smiled into her cup. Truth be told, she felt more drawn to a night out, or in, with Andy than gallivanting around a gallery with Gavin.

"How about brunch?" Sharon offered looking up, "And I can bring your leather jacket along. I still have it."

Andy smiled, "Oh, I had almost forgotten all about my jacket. You wanna do brunch tomorrow then?"

She nodded.

"That's a deal," Andy replied his tone happy and his eyes on her with an intense look.

Sharon nodded with a hum.

It was one of those moments where she felt overwhelmed by his expression and the meaning behind it. That these moments were escalating was another overwhelming aspect. Deflecting them was becoming difficult.

Sharon simply smiled back and quickly looked down at her coffee again.

…

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely feedback. =)


	16. Part 15

_What keeps you up at night? Part 2_

Mike Tao drummed two fingers against his thigh. Outside the car, the horizon was blue and the sun was slowly setting. The mystery the case and the four victims presented was a particularly baffling problem, and Mike felt he was missing too many pieces to put the whole picture together and make sense of it.

Julio Sanchez was in the car next to Mike, steering with one hand on the wheel. They had just come from an interview of a colleague of Carl Dennings, the lawyer who was killed in December along with his client James Reginald. Julio was driving them back to headquarters so they could write up the last of reports and then call it a weekend.

Since Monday and the identification of their two disemboweled victims, the team had spent days sifting through potential suspects. Combined, the two cases generated a long list of suspects. Relatives and friends of Daisy Higgs turned out to be far removed and unaware of her social situation, or even the assault. Martin Brooks shared little of his work with his wife and on the surface, she appeared nonthreatening. Bill Lawrence had little to do with his family, and even less to do with his friends. Brooks' clients from prior years did not stand out, and the few who had complained were two states over and alibis accounted for.

Re-interviewing potential suspects from the December murder revealed nothing new. The warrant for Carl Denning's practice revealed, much like Brooks', a list of clients accused of assault, stalking and domestic abuse. None turned out to be likely candidates for four murders.

The woman who had accused James Reginald of harassment and stalking turned out to be the ex-girlfriend. The charges were dropped on a technicality and, as far as Mike could tell, the woman did not seem particularly vengeful even if she declared she was happy the 'prick got killed' in her police statement from December. Her bank account verified her alibi along with video surveillance from a hotel in New York.

The warrant on the sealed juvenile records on Brooks and Lawrence revealed a charge of stalking that had ended with a break-in. The court had sealed the records, on behest of age and no priors. The sentence was carried out with community service. The girl, the two boys had harassed, was a woman now, and had not seen either men in some thirty odd years.

It was a puzzle.

Mike decided to think out aloud. Maybe Julio had some insight. "Maybe we are completely wrong about the two cases being linked. Maybe we are truly dealing with a copycat now, and we should be looking for two separate killers for the two double homicides?"

Julio gave him a look of disbelief, on eyebrow quirked before the other detective looked back at the road.

"I know, I know," Mike sighed, "The tattoos were never revealed to the public," he paused and then expelled a heavy breath, "it's wishful thinking on my part."

Julio nodded with a small smile. He was driving with one hand on the wheel, eyes straight ahead. They stopped at an intersection.

"Hmm," Mike put a finger against his chin, briefly looking at the buildings and pedestrians, "This case is giving me a headache."

Julio agreed with a grunt.

"I mean," Mike turned to face Julio, "I am trying to figure out why the killer executed the two double homicides with two completely different methods? Doesn't it seem strange to you? Usually, serial killers tend to stick to one method… But the MO in this case, is puzzling. What is the deeper meaning behind two different methods of killing?"

Julio shrugged and then pushed down the speeder as the light changed to green.

After a beat of silence, Mike answered his own question, "If the killer's method is dependent on who the victims are, I can see why it would not matter how the victims are killed. The murders are directed at the lawyer/client angle and the unjustified dismissal of a justified law suit. But again, why not simply kill Brooks and Lawrence with an overdose like Dennings and Reginald? Poisoning takes less of an effort. Disemboweling two men seems a bit overboard, doesn't it? There's a bigger risk involved, and a bigger risk of it going wrong or being discovered."

"Pulling out their guts, and strangling them, is vengeful," Julio supplied as he finally spoke, "It's angrier."

"True," Mike agreed, "So, perhaps the method of the murders fits the crime committed and the injustice as the killer perceives it."

Julio nodded, "Yeah. Daisy Higgs was worse off than the ex-girlfriend of James Reginald. She lost her job and her home; she lost everything."

Mike hummed, "So if a justified lawsuit being dismissed in court is what the killer perceives as an injustice, yes, it would make sense that there is more anger towards Lawrence and Brooks."

Julio grunted again, "Or maybe the killer is escalating; found out he had a taste for it. Found a simple overdose was dull in comparison to something bigger."

That made sense as well.

Mike supplied, "Or he wants more of a spotlight, more media attention? Disembowelment is a sure way to fire the media up. Deliberate overdose on morphine, not so much."

Julio nodded, agreeing, "The overdose could have been overlooked as murders back in December. The tattoos are the connection between our cases."

"And the killer deliberately put them there," Mike furrowed his brow and pursed his mouth.

"So everyone would know that the victims were guilty even if the court said otherwise," Julio replied.

"It's a bold statement," Mike said.

"Maybe we're looking for another courtroom journalist gone crazy?" Julio turned his head, a crooked smile turning half his mouth upwards before he once again put his attention back on the road.

Mike shook his head with a rueful smile, "I hope not, but you're right. We need to take an extra look at court proceedings. We need to figure out how our killer selects his victims. It must have taken time to both select victims and plan the murders."

"We can look at prosecuting lawyers who've had similar cases in the past; stalking and battery of women. And then look at the cases they lost," Julio said as they rounded the familiar corner of North Main Street.

"That would mean upping our suspect pool to the impossible," Mike shook his head.

Julio agreed with another smile, "We could always pull Baker in again for questioning."

Mike laughed, "If you dare. The Captain did not seem particularly pleased about Provenza calling Mr. Baker and asking if he was a sore loser that went around killing people."

Julio grinned, "We can get Flynn to call him."

Mike shook his head, "Good luck with that."

They parked the car and made their way to headquarters.

"Cathy is having a get together tomorrow," Mike told Julio, "and you're more than welcome."

Julio nodded, "I know."

Mike frowned, "You know?"

"Cathy rang me Tuesday to invite me over," Julio explained, "My mom is coming too."

Mike smiled, "Let me guess, Cathy already gave you a list of things to bring."

Julio nodded, "Sure did. Steaks."

Mike shook his head with a smile.

…


	17. Part 16

_What keeps you up at night? Part 3_

First dates were usually an annoyance for Buzz Watson. Either he quickly got clued in on the other person's shortcomings or the atmosphere lacked a certain element of excitement. Buzz was not unforgiving to the flaws of human beings, but it was something else when those shortcomings, or lack of understanding, made the other partner spout nonsensical, dehumanizing beliefs; a second date lost its appeal then. The date with Doctor Morales turned out to be something else.

First up, Buzz had spent too much time trying to figure out what to wear for the evening. Second, he was looking forward to it, excitement fluttering underneath his skin. The evening started out in a slow tempo, a throng of people mingling in the spacious underground garage, upbeat music played from speakers and makeshift walls displayed paintings and sculptures.

Buzz stood with Morales in a corner, their backs to a concrete wall while they watched the fourth piece of art of the night. Meanwhile Buzz enjoyed a long-stemmed glass of champagne and the background music that set the atmosphere. Small rosy ice cubes bopped in the frizzy champagne, melting in his mouth. The flavor of raspberry lingered; cold and bittersweet.

Doctor Morales stood shoulder to shoulder with Buzz, the point of convergence between them warm and exciting. The other man was gazing at a large painting; small geometric shapes depicting a larger landscape of spring on a foreign planet. The colors were warm and engaging, but it was the other man Buzz found himself fascinated with. One hidden glance showed Morales in deep thought and the next look, had the man narrowing his eyes.

"I once saw purple grass," Morales commented as he tilted his head. The landscape had a purple-ish tinge; grass and hilltops adorned with the color.

"Oh?" Buzz looked at the other man curiously.

Morales smile seemed playful, "I was young, and smoked too much marijuana," he paused to laugh and then leaned in closer to Buzz, his voice lower, "Shh, don't tell our esteemed colleagues."

Buzz smiled as he shook his head, wondering if Morales would be even weirder when high, or maybe the doctor turned mellow.

The other man looked sharp in a form fitted black suit, flawless design. Buzz wondered what the labels would say; something expensive certainly. Morales wore a dark purple shirt beneath the suit and a bow tie in dark colors with a floral design. Every now and then, the Doctor would tear his eyes away from the tapestry of art and instead glance at Buzz with a prominent smirk.

Whenever it happened, Buzz sipped his champagne nonchalantly. This whole back and forth saw Buzz rapidly replacing one empty champagne glass with a new one. By the time, they had circulated half around the room, Buzz was tipsy and smiling carelessly. He even gathered an ounce of courage and then linked his arm through the nook of Morales elbow and stood a tiny bit closer to the other man.

At the next art piece, a sculpture, Morales started out on a story of a European Interrail trip and the splendor of the Italian countryside.

Buzz was on his fourth - or sixth? - glass of champagne when he caught sight of none other than Captain Raydor. It was a surprise to see her and at an Art Exhibit nonetheless. Buzz tilted his head, only half listening to Morales as he observed his boss. The woman was standing next to a tall, bespectacled man in a narrow, checkered suit. The Captain's dress was snuck by the waist and for a short second Buzz imagined Andy Flynn would feel cheated out of a sight. She was beautiful. Not that she wasn't usually beautiful. There was just something different about her outside the office, Buzz reflected.

The Captain was sipping champagne much like Buzz himself, and from her stance, Buzz figured she was only half listening to her companion.

When the man turned his head, Buzz caught a glimpse of his face. It made sense then; she was out with the lawyer, Mr. Baker. The lawyer was talking with exuberant gestures, a hand in the direction of the painting they were studying.

After a minute, she turned her head and caught Buzz staring.

Buzz gave a little wave and smiled self-consciously.

Captain Raydor's mouth turned upwards and she raised her glass in a toast at Buzz while she rolled her eyes in the direction of Mr. Baker.

Buzz smiled back at her and likewise raised his glass. They each went about their ways.

On his fifth - seventh? - glass of champagne, Buzz found himself out in the back room with the coat rag. Of course, it was all a ruse. The room was unoccupied and the lighting dim.

Doctor Morales was an excellent kisser.

Maybe Buzz should figure out the man's first name?

It was a little weird kissing someone and calling them doctor. Morales leaned closer, his hands gripping around Buzz's front labels. The doctor then backed Buzz up against a wall, deepening the kiss. Buzz wavered with his grip on the champagne flute, splashing half the drink over his hand.

The spilt drink was quickly forgotten as the kiss continued; Buzz became lost in kissing the other man back, his whole body tingling with excitement.

…


	18. Part 17

_What keeps you up at night? Part 4_

Gavin Q Baker fixed the woman by his side with a long narrowed glare, utterly offended at the telltale sound of a phone ringing. It came from the apricot colored clutch Sharon carried.

"Don't you dare answer that!" Gavin ordered.

Leave it to the busy bee to be interrupted midway through the Art Exhibit.

Sharon shrugged with apology, her lips pursing as she answered her phone.

"Captain Sharon Raydor," she said while she patted Gavin on the arm in what was supposedly affectionate. Gavin felt more like a Labrador being told to calm down. Typical.

Gavin studied his friend with his arms crossed.

Sharon alternated between humming and sighing over the phone. When she pursed her lips and gave into an eye roll, Gavin knew she was talking to either a superior or a stubborn subordinate. After the eye roll, she mumbled a couples of 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' that sounded anything but demure.

Gavin smiled.

The woman was versatile when it came to appearing subordinate and demure when in, actuality, she exuded disdain. Subtle observation of her facial expression always told Gavin what he needed to know. She would have been a menace in the courtroom.

Gavin blew out an exaggerated puff of air and narrowed his eyes when Sharon finally ended the call.

"So?" he asked snippily, "You're cutting short our evening, I assume."

"I am so sorry, Gavin. Major Crimes has a new case. A missing child."

Gavin looked to the ceiling.

Sharon leaned close and kissed his cheek. She looked beseeching and adorable when Gavin looked back at her.

"I am truly sorry," she told him, the tone genuine.

"I know, honey, I know," Gavin sighed as he linked his arm with hers and pulled her close.

"C'mon, let's grab our coats. I'll give you a ride home and you can change before you saunter off to work."

As they made their way to the coat room, weaving through the crowd in the room, Gavin deposited Sharon's glass of champagne on a nearby tray.

Of course, Sharon pouted at the gesture.

Gavin grinned, "No more champagne for you. Unless you want to arrive at work two steps from drunk, hmm?"

Still, she pouted as much as pouting could be described. Gavin was sure the woman would protest vehemently.

Out in the back room and the hallway that led to the rest rooms, the noise quietened down. In the entrance to the coat room, Gavin put an arm out and stopped Sharon from walking in on a kissing couple.

"Oh look," he whispered, holding Sharon back with a hand on her waist.

Sharon stopped short and then looked in the direction Gavin was pointing.

The couple stood, mouths fully locked, against the wall next to one of the coat rags, completely unaware of their surroundings. Gavin even noticed there was some light groping involved. How exciting.

"Don't you miss being kissed like that, hmm?" Gavin let out a deep sigh, "I miss it."

Sharon nodded in agreement, her eyes crinkled and her cheeks starting to change hue. The tinge to her skin blushed further and then deepened.

"Oh, erm," she looked awkwardly surprised now, her eyes widening as she stared at the couple.

Gavin shook his head and gave her hip a gentle push, "Don't tell me it's been so long, you've turned all prudish?"

She opened her mouth but closed it again.

Gavin saw his window of opportunity. Teasing the straight-laced woman was a favorite past time. He leaned sideways, "When was the last time you were kissed like that?"

That prompted a reaction. Sharon turned her head and fixed him with a glare that seemed to come out of nowhere, "Shh," she shushed at him, "I know the -,"

Whatever she had been about to say was lost under a high squeal that had Gavin jumping in surprise. The sound had come from one of the men; apparently the couple had noticed the audience.

Both men stood with awkward stances, half a meter apart now and judging from the red colors on everyone's cheeks; everyone was embarrassed. Not that there was anything to be embarrassed about. Gavin sure never felt embarrassed about kisses. What was the world coming to?

"Oh, hello Captain Raydor," one of the men said in a squeaky voice, blushing face reminding Gavin of one of those paintings he had just observed; it had been an impressionistic painting of a tomato.

The other man waved at Sharon as well, his expression with a distinct tinge of red.

"Doctor, Buzz," Sharon greeted both men, her voice sounding somewhat throaty to Gavin.

So, she knew both men. That explained the awkwardness.

Gavin felt like clapping his hands together in glee; the sheer mortification that was branded across his friend's face shone like a neon light. Oh, it was a delight. Sharon Raydor flustered beyond speech, her cheeks heating up and her eyes darting around the room before they landed pleadingly on Gavin.

Gavin took pity on her, and after a swift exchange of short pleasantries between the four people, he swept their coats off their hangers, took Sharon by the arm and lead her outside. When he looked back, the two men stood even further apart, their gaze anywhere but each other.

If his dear friend became this discomposed over catching two people she knew in a compromising situation, then she certainly needed to be kissed well and proper. Gavin told her as much when they left the main entrance of the Art Exhibit, the night air brisk.

"Oh shut up," Sharon Raydor told him in a no-nonsense voice, mouth pursed and eyes narrowed.

"Honey, how can I live vicariously through you when you never see any action? Hmm?"

That comment earned Gavin a full on frown with a side order of frosty contempt.

"All I am saying," Gavin pointed out, "is that I want you to have fun. You've finally divorced that dreadful, alcoholic appendix of yours; now it's time to live a little!"

Gavin only wanted the best for Sharon; which meant regular sex as far as he was concerned. The woman had tried marriage, now she needed a fling or two. Something casual, on the side.

"Live a little, dare a little, hmm?"

Sharon turned her head to stare at him. They were waiting at a cross walk, the light red. Gavin's Alfa Spider was parked two blocks over.

"All I hear you saying," Sharon responded in a too sweet voice, her head tilted in a condescending angle, "is that you think I need to get laid. Which is what every misogynistic gimp throughout my entire career, have told me."

Oh. Woops. He had touched a nerve. Gavin threw up a hand, admitting fault, "Alright, alright. I'll stop being a gimp then."

"Good," she punctuated.

"But honey, please tell me you are at least amusing yourself with a vibrator?"

This time her eyes crinkled with humor and her mouth curled with a playful smile.

From then on, Gavin left the sex talk alone. Who was he to talk anyhow; the last time he had come near a naked penis that wasn't his own, was well over a year ago. Gavin drove Sharon home, traffic light and music on his stereo low.

Judging from the pressure in his bladder, doubtless from the countless glasses of cheap champagne, Gavin decided to follow his friend up to her apartment.

Gavin rushed Sharon from the elevator to her front door, his hand at her back.

Even from far away, the single red rose that hung taped to Sharon's door, was noticeable. It was stuck under the 1109 plate with tape.

Gavin shook his head, amused.

Sharon gave the rose a most peculiar look, her eyes wide at first but then they narrowed with suspicion.

Gavin tripped from one foot to the other next to her, impatient, "C'mon, honey, grab your secret lover's rose and let's go inside!"

She remained still, eyes fastened on the flower.

"What?" Gavin leaned closer, his head next to hers as he likewise studied the rose, "You don't like the color?"

"I don't have any secret lovers," Sharon said with a firm voice. She gently touched a petal and then when the flower didn't explode in her face, she took it off her door. Sharon turned the rose around, careful. To Gavin it looked like any normal red rose. There was even a small note attached to the stem; a folded white card.

Sharon unfolded the note.

Gavin read out aloud over her shoulder, "Sharon. When Death arrives, You shall be no stranger. When Darkness calls, I'll answer. When Destiny intervenes, our paths will meet again."

Gavin shuddered, "Now that's a teeny bit perverted, honey. Who the hell have you been secretly seeing? You might want to have a word with them about romantic gestures. This is atrocious."

Sharon gave him a weird look.

Gavin shrugged, "Whatever gets you off, darling."

She narrowed her eyes and then holding the rose out in front of her as if was about to combust, she bit out, "It's not a romantic anything. It's a threat, Gavin."

"Oh," Gavin leaned in and sniffed at the rose, "Well, who's sending you threats? Poetic threats, nonetheless. Did you arrest a poet recently?"

"The rose is not signed; so how am I supposed to know who sent it?" She sounded annoyed.

"Hmm," Gavin drew a sigh and then with an impatient nod to the door, "Can we please go inside now? I am certain the rose will not explode, unlike my bladder."

"You're like a five year old," Sharon responded. Gavin was sure she slowed down the process of finding her key in her purse.

Gavin grumbled under his breath.

Sharon stuck the key in the hole and opened the door; her eyes were on the rose and the note, a frown prominent. Gavin opened the door into her apartment and for the second time this evening, he stopped short at the sight in front of him. This time it was Sharon's adopted son kissing another boy on her couch, in plain view from the doorway.

Did no one kiss in their rooms anymore? Or out of sight?

Sharon walked into Gavin.

"Ouch, Gavin. Didn't you need to use the…," she stopped when she saw the same scenario that had been unfolding on her couch.

To say Sharon looked surprised was an understatement.

"Sharon," the boy exclaimed in a squeak as he quickly leapt away from the boy he had been kissing a second ago.

The boy – Rusty, Gavin reminded himself – turned an eclectic shade of red, his eyes wide and mortified.

Sharon's mouth morphed into a wide beam; surprise still detectable.

"My, my," Gavin commented with a quirked eyebrow; he put his hand on his hip, "When the cat's away, the dogs come out to play, huh?"

"You're home early!" the boy accused Sharon, ignoring Gavin by a long shot. He had yet to be introduced to the boy properly. Rusty's eyes darted from Sharon to the boy next to him, "erm, I mean, I thought you were gone all night. You said you would be home late, like 1am or something."

"I also said to not wait up," Sharon replied with an amused smile. She closed the door behind her. "I was under the impression you were going to a study club?"

"This is the club," Rusty pointed between himself and the other boy.

Gavin had to hide his smile behind a hand.

"Erm, yeah, so this is Jeremy," Rusty introduced the other boy, "We have sociology together, and Jeremy this is my, erm, my mother. Sharon."

Sharon hummed and stepped closer, extending her hand, "Hello Jeremy."

Gavin quickly escaped to the toilet, letting his friend deal with the pleasantries.

…


	19. Part 18

_What keeps you up at night? Part 5_

Amy Sykes could not hold back the broad smile that tingled on her lips.

Lieutenant Chuck Cooper, his usual smirk in place, was attempting to steer the conversation to a more explicit topic. His hand lingered on Amy's knee as he leaned in across the bar counter and stared at her, his eyes briefly on her thighs.

The small bar was a few blocks away from Amy's apartment, and the dim lights and low key jazz music cocooned her in a warm feeling. It was well past midnight and despite yawn after yawn, she did not want to go to sleep. Amy and Julio Sanchez had gone for an after work beer, and Coop had joined a few hours later. Amy had convinced both men to share a tray of fries with her. She liked going out with the boys and having a drink or two, decompressing and getting a little away from the cruel facades of life they dealt with on a daily basis.

Julio had left half an hour ago shaking Coops hand and winking at Amy before he had sauntered out of the bar. Now it was only Amy and Coop left. The bar had been full and crowded early on and before midnight but now it was thinning out.

Coop leaned in and sneaked another kiss from her, this time, his mouth lingering as he pulled her lower lip with his mouth. Amy closed her eyes and enjoyed the slow kiss.

"You wanna go home?" Coop asked after the kiss when she opened her eyes, his smile smug and his eyebrows waggling.

Amy laughed and nodded, feeling ripe with happiness.

She quickly downed the last of the beer in one go, the taste acrid and lukewarm, and after putting on their jackets, they walked out into the cool night. Coops arm was warm around her lower back, his fingers under her leather jacket and resting on her hipbone.

Amy drew him closer and they stopped up briefly their mouths meeting once again. They walked a few feet and stopped again to kiss; it was going to take some time to get home. Amy didn't mind. She had been looking forward to the weekend and savoring time alone with him. There was comfort in knowing that she could sleep in, and that she would be waking up next to Coop.

She smiled to herself. She was tipsy from the many shared beers and in a good mood after spending hours with friends laughing. Julio liked Coop; which made it all that much easier.

Inside the apartment block where Amy lived, Coop stopped her with a soft touch under her chin, his thumb going in a small caressing circle. The door closed behind them and the quiet settled like a blanket; most people were asleep by now and the little noise from outside was subdued by the door.

Coop took a hold of her face with both hands, his eyes intensely on her and then his lips were on Amy's again; this time they fastened onto hers with urgency and heat. He pushed her up against the wall next to the door and Amy kissed him back with the same fervor, hanging onto the t-shirt under his jacket.

Somehow they managed to make their way to the stairs and from there, they took a couple of steps, their hands intertwined and their mouths more often locked than not.

On the second floor, Amy giggled when Coop sneaked his hands under her t-shirt; the leather jacket was wide open and she made room for him between her legs as she leaned back against the wall. His thigh was warm between hers and it shot straight through her core.

By the time they made it to the fifth floor, Amy was winded from all the kissing. She pushed Coop up against the wall just next to her front door, teasing him as she let her mouth linger an inch from his and quirked an eyebrow before she leaned completely in and gave him a short, full kiss on the lips.

Out of the corner of her eye, the single rose caught her attention. She turned her head to look at her front door, smiling. The rose was dark red with large petals, taped to her front door with grey tape.

"Coop," Amy shook her head with a smile. She leaned sideways and pulled the rose to her.

It was long stemmed with no thorns.

Amy looked back at Coop, a coy smile. "When did you manage to put it on my door?"

Coop shook his head, amused, "I'm sorry to say; that's not me. Sykes, are you seeing someone else?" He laughed, the comment in no way serious.

Amy smiled; so he wanted to play it that way.

"Well," Amy prolonged the word, pursing her lips and tilting her head as she looked at him.

Coop leaned forward and captured her lips; this time it was hard and with promise. She agreed with him; she really needed release soon.

Coop sneaked the rose out of her hand in the middle of the kiss. He looked it over after the kiss with a pursed mouth.

"Hmm, see, Sykes. There's even a note from your secret lover."

Amy smiled and then leaned against him, her head against his chest. His scent was warm as it wrapped itself around her.

She waited for him to read the note out aloud.

There was only silence.

Amy heard the deep breath he took, reverberate in his chest.

Coop cleared his throat and then he said, "Amy?" His voice sounded strange.

Amy quickly looked up, the smile on her lips disappearing the moment she saw his expression. "Yeah?"

He turned the note in his hands around and Amy read the words, her eyes squinting in the half dark. She furrowed her brow, worried, at the words and their meaning.

'Abyss here you go. What awaits the brave detective in the Dark Depths? Surely Monsters. The Dark will devour you; that I promise you.'

…


	20. Part 19

**28th Marts 2015**

**Los Angeles **

**Saturday**

…

_What transforms in the dark? Part 1_

It was a critical missing child case; a little boy had been gone since early afternoon. Somehow Major Crimes was not called until late in the night; whereas the usual practice was to call in Major Crimes's assistance the moment the child was confirmed missing. Sharon Raydor found it odd, if not suspicious, that such a mistake could be made. The boy had already been missing for ten hours when she got the call, and for every hour missing, the likelihood of finding him alive diminished vastly.

Hollywood Division had been first on scene. They had found a backpack with Hulk printed on it near some trashcans in an alley. It was not far from the playground where the boy had been playing, and the mother, Denise Shaw, identified the backpack as belonging to her son.

It would have been pitch black if not for a police cruiser lightening the surroundings up with its blue and red blinking lights, when Sharon arrived at the house of Mrs. Shaw. She had made a quick change of clothes at home, juggling a need to hurry and a need to pry more into Rusty's study club that apparently only consisted of the two boys. Sharon had put on black slacks and a nondescript peach shirt, attaching her holster with her badge and gun in hurried but practiced motions. Gavin had loudly interrogated Rusty while she changed out of her dress, or at least that is what it sounded like through the closed door of her bedroom. Even now, as she walked to the front of Mrs. Shaw's house, she felt a smile tug at her lips. It was heaven-sent when Rusty did normal things, it made her feel at ease and reminded her of when Emily had been caught kissing some boy on the couch when she, also, thought her mother gone for the evening.

Sharon had stuffed the single rose and the attached threatening note stuck on her door in an evidence bag. They were now lying in the trunk of her Hyundai and were ready to be sent off to analysis. The whole thing annoyed Sharon more than it scared her. She had gotten worse threats when she had been in Internal Affairs, mostly from disgruntled officers who were pissed off at the world in general and took it out on her. She had been called every condescending and demeaning word in the dictionary, and a half-assed wannabe poem with an overtly threatening message was not even close to being the worst threat she had received. She still remembered that one officer she had investigated for conduct unbecoming years back. He had fired his sidearm off duty and injured several innocent bystanders because of a dispute with another man. She had put the officer on administrative leave and he had called her a useless dyke who should get fucked more, then he had spat in her face and said she should shut her whore mouth or another gun might go off, accidentally of course. Needless to say, he got discharged immediately.

So Sharon felt more annoyance about the note than anything else, she did not have time to deal with it. However, when Amy Sykes called and told her that she had received the same items, the situation changed. Amy had called just as Sharon was ready to leave her apartment with Gavin in tow so Rusty could have some time alone with his friend. The detective had sounded somewhat distraught when she told Sharon about the rose she had found taped to her front door.

It was eerie; the two displays were identical, down to the color of the rose and the paper the notes had been written on. As it was no longer a unique event, Sharon had dialed Chief Taylor. The man sounded less than happy about the wake-up call, and even less when Sharon explained the circumstances behind her call. Suffice it to say, it had been a long evening and now it looked to be an even longer night.

Sykes and Andy met Sharon in front of Mrs. Shaw's house, the blue blink of the cruiser reflecting on their skin and clothes.

"Captain," Amy greeted her eagerly when Sharon was within hearing range, the woman walking quickly up to her. Amy immediately held out a plastic bag with an identical rose to the one Sharon had received, "I did what you asked. No one's touched the rose or the note but Lieutenant Cooper and I."

Sharon drew a small breath and then forced on a polite, and hopefully reassuring, smile. This would have been ideal to deal with in privacy.

Andy, having arrived earlier, was already eyeing the rose curiously, his head inclined and his eyes on Sharon with a question mark. Sharon quickly grabbed the bag.

"Thank you Amy, I'm sure it's nothing serious," she gave the younger woman a reassuring smile and then turned around to put the bag in her trunk with her own evidence. She had only taken two steps when she heard Andy following her, his gait unmistaken.

Sharon sighed.

It was not that she minded discussing it with Andy, but she would rather forget about the whole thing for now. She opened the trunk of her car, knowing he would see the identical bag with a rose in it.

"What's that?" Andy asked, standing behind her shoulder and staring into the trunk of her car. His expression deepened into a frown. Amy had moved a bit away and stood at the curb, waiting for them. She had her hands behind her back, a military stance, and her eyes on the sea of police personnel arriving at the house, instead of on Andy and Sharon. She was giving them a bit of privacy, Sharon figured.

Sharon heaved a breath, "It's a rose."

"I can see that, but what about it?" Andy moved from behind her to stand next to her, his eyes dark in the night and his voice sounding tired. They were all tired, Sharon thought; getting a call out on a Saturday night was a nightmare and even more so when it was a missing child. "Why do you have a rose in the trunk of your car, and why did Sykes give you a rose in a plastic bag? Huh - seems a bit weird, Sharon."

Sharon closed the trunk and then crossed her arms as she looked back at him. She might as well tell him the whole story now, it might relieve some of the tension she felt about the whole affair.

"After I got the call out, I drove home to change from the gallery before coming here, I found a rose and a note taped to my front door. Detective Sykes received the same, err… gift."

"What kind of note?" Andy lifted his eyebrow and then he smiled, "Like, a romantic note? You both got some secret admirer, huh? How about that lawyer we interviewed last month; he seemed mightily infatuated with you both."

Sharon pursed her mouth, briefly amused by him. The small smile quickly disappeared though, and she sighed.

"If only it was a romantic one...It's a threat note."

Andy's expression instantly darkened.

Sharon found it peculiar that at the moment it left her mouth the whole thing felt more sinister. Or maybe it was because she was telling Andy about it.

"You got a threat? What kind? Explicit?" he listed off as he unconsciously leaned closer to her. He then gave her trunk a severe look as if he was contemplating opening it and reading the note for himself.

"I will tell you later, Andy," Sharon told him, her voice low. She took hold of his sleeve, pulling him away from the car, "Let's focus on Jimmy Shaw for now, this can wait."

Andy, however, ignored her, "I bet my pension this is the work of Philip Stroh." He stood still, not taking another step towards the house. As he crossed his arms, she could almost feel the indignant anger radiating off him. "I mean, the smug bastard is the type of creep who would do something like this, definitely at the top of my suspect list."

Sharon stopped short at the name of Stroh. She had not even once thought of Stroh.

She turned towards him, "You know, that's a very likely possibility, Andy. I didn't even think of Stroh," she hummed, contemplative.

Andy raised his eyebrow, "You didn't think of Stroh! You got other serial killers on the loose who might feel some residual anger about their incarcerations?"

Sharon briefly smiled "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds even more plausible."

Andy huffed.

"I have a meeting with Chief Taylor come midday, Andy, you are welcome along and we can discuss it then."

He nodded and then with a forced inhalation he gestured for her to walk first, his expression hidden by shadows. She almost heard him counting to ten in his head.

Amy stood somewhat impatiently on the curb, her eyes on them with curiosity as they approached.

"So, what are the exact details on our critical missing?" Sharon asked. She had only gotten the highlights from Lieutenant Provenza when he had interrupted her evening with Gavin. Sharon suspected he had been asleep when he had gotten the call out as the lieutenant had been even more short and grumpy than usual.

"Denise Shaw was at the playground with her son Jimmy around 3 pm this afternoon. Mrs. Shaw suffers from migraines. She said, she had a dizzy spell and when she came to, Jimmy was gone. He had been by the swing. She swears she only looked away for a half minute. Hollywood PD found the boy's backpack in an alley near the playground, nothing was stolen and the back appears otherwise untouched. Julio is canvassing the neighborhood around the playground with patrol and checking for surveillance cameras. So far, there's no new information and we know little."

Sharon nodded, "Jimmy is five, yes?"

Andy cleared his throat behind her and answered in a gruff tone, "Yeah, and that whole migraine thing, Mike is checking into it."

Sharon pursed her lips. It did sound somewhat suspicious, having a dizzy spell on a playground and then your child disappeared in that short time frame with no witnesses. Not that it was completely implausible.

The three of them made their way across the front lawn which was well-kept; she noticed a sprinkler here and there in the grass, explaining why the grass was so green.

Amy walked in front of Sharon and Andy. The younger woman turned half around and then supplied, "Lieutenant Provenza is with Denise Shaw now but she seems less than forthcoming about herself. She's very agitated and when we try to move the conversation to anything but Jimmy she closes off."

Sharon nodded, "That might just be normal behavior for an abnormal situation, Amy. We can't tell for sure yet. What about the father? Is he in the picture?"

Andy shook his head and held the front door open, "She's divorced with the kid being the only thing she's got, the father's a deadbeat, or so she says."

Denise Shaw lived in a small, one-story house with a large backyard. The facade was baby-blue and inside the walls were a pristine white. The floorboards creaked under their feet and seemed well worn. The many rooms were kept spotlessly clean to such a degree that Sharon felt like cleaning her own apartment when she had the opportunity. Lieutenant Provenza greeted them in the foyer, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. He looked as if sleep had eluded him for a week.

"Good morning people," he growled in greeting and then with a narrowed glance over his shoulder, he leaned in and lowered his voice, "There's been no ransom calls so far and Mrs. Shaw hasn't called her family yet. She sits on the couch, staring into space. Something's off."

Sharon nodded and then with a shoulder squeeze, she sent the older lieutenant off with Amy to coordinate another canvas of the neighbors.

The rest of the night passed in a blur.

The new day dawned chilly and held a promise of rain as seen in the horizon. The atmosphere weighed heavily on the city and the sky was gray with the smell of thunder. It was seldom that it rained and when it did, Sharon liked to sit on her terrace with a cup of tea. She sighed tiredly and walked back inside Ms. Shaw's house.

Breakfast consisted of two very ripe bananas Sharon managed to munch down between staying with Denise Shaw and coordinating the search for her son. The woman appeared to be in some state of shock; the fluctuations of the woman's mood ranged from monosyllabic replies to crying. Sharon called in a therapist. Maybe a psychologist could provide some much needed crisis management and help Ms. Shaw collect herself enough to be of assistance.

By late morning, the skies opened up with a small drizzle. Andy was making coffee in the kitchen and Sharon joined him after Doctor Joe arrived and took Denise Shaw in his professional hands. Sharon eagerly accepted the offered cup of coffee from Andy.

The first warm sip warmed Sharon to the core and she let out a small sigh of relief. It helped little with her drowsiness however. Working through the night with no sleep was not something she would ever get used to. She stood with Andy in the kitchen, the atmosphere subdued as they both drank their coffee.

Sharon felt Andy's eyes on her, the look indecipherable when she tilted her head up. She knew he wanted to talk about the rose and the threat – he had mentioned it more than once during the night and Sharon had told him more than once, it would have to wait.

"When's your meeting with Taylor?" he asked over the rim.

"At twelve," she answered.

"You want me to go with you?"

It was a sweet offer. She smiled at him, putting her hand on his shoulder before she thought about it. She let it rest there for a short moment and then drew it back, her eyes on his.

"Thank you but it's not necessary. I'll give you the boring highlights afterwards."

He nodded but did not look appeased.

"Andy," Sharon said making her voice soft, "It's just a threat. You wouldn't believe how many of those I've gotten over the years. If it's Stroh, then the threat is a clue, and pretty stupid of him, wouldn't you say?"

Andy shrugged, "I suppose. I just don't like it, is all."

"Well, me neither."

Sharon looked out to the backyard and the garden. She fought against her heavy eyelids and hid a yawn behind her hand. She quickly drowned the rest of the coffee in one go.

Her thoughts went back to Jimmy Shaw. The boy was only five. At five, Ricky had been a ball of energy. Sharon remembered all those small bruises he had acquired because he was climbing trees or was clumsy on his bike. Mostly, she remembered kissing those bruises and happily enveloping him in hugs. He had liked to watch cartoons slung across her lap, and with his teddy bear in his arms. Sharon called Ricky while looking at the garden, the cheerful voice of her son, a treasure to her ears and soul.

The backyard looked pristine; the grass just as well-kept as the front lawn, the fence to the neighbor was painted immaculately and the pool was free of any mush. Sharon remembered her own garden back when Ricky had been five; it had been a mess, weed everywhere, grass in wilted disarray. Between working full time and taking care of two children by herself, she had had no time to deal with her garden. But Ms. Shaw apparently had a green thumb. She and Jimmy had been weeding and planting flowers; the boy liked sun flowers, Denise had said.

By ten am there was still no new information about the case. The boy seemed gone without a trace.

…


	21. Part 20

_What transforms in the dark? Part 2_

From the windows in Chief Taylor's office, Amy Sykes glanced at the heavy dark gray clouds that still hadn't opened up fully to the promised thunderstorm. She stood with her arms behind her back, her feet parted; it was a tactic she used when she needed to stand still for a longer period of time, it felt relaxing but it also kept her alert.

Amy fought against the urge to yawn; working through the night left its traces in everyone. She would not have trouble staying awake if she was out doing something active. If she had a clear goal there would be no need to hide her yawns or try to keep herself awake.

The Chief had insisted on the meeting, the Captain had told Amy, for security reasons. There were protocols to follow when officers were threatened. Meanwhile the team worked on finding Jimmy Shaw, and considering what little they had accomplished during the night, Amy thought it would have been wiser to have them all working. Time was essential in the case of a missing child. Surely they could discuss security protocol some other time?

Amy could tell from the frown on Raydor's face that became more pronounced as the meeting dragged on, that the Captain agreed with Amy, albeit silently. The frown was highlighted with crossed arms and a tilted head that told Amy impatience was also an issue for the other woman.

Amy let out the breath she had unintentionally been holding. Usually, impatience never troubled Amy much. However, usually did not apply when there was a child missing, she saw, in her mind, the framed pictures of the five-year old boy that hung in Denise Shaw's house. There was one photo - the one they had used in their investigation – that really stuck to her. In that photo, Jimmy Shaw looked so carefree with dimples displaying a broad smile. The black, unruly hair stuck this and that way, freckles dotted across the nose and only made the little boy look even more mischievous. Amy itched to get back to finding the boy. Time was ticking away and every second counted. Standing quietly in Chief Taylor's office, waiting for the man to get off the phone, was a waste of time.

The Captain caught Amy's eyes; there was reassurance in the gaze, a look of quiet, warm comfort. Amy returned the smile and let go of another breath. This time, she felt a little more at ease.

The Captain would not agree to a meeting unless she saw it as essential; she put trust in the rest of the team to find something substantial meanwhile.

On Chief Taylor's desk lay the offending threats; two separate evidence bags containing the two single roses and the attached notes. The Captain looked back at the Chief, her eyes narrowing as Taylor continued to talk on the phone. It should have put Amy at ease that the Captain had received the same threat but somehow knowing the creep was targeting the both of them, broadened the horizon of perpetrators and told Amy it was more than a simple grudge behind the acts. There was something larger at play. It was not the standard threats police officers usually received.

The Captain appeared calm about the threats. She already had a clear-cut plan; forensic analysis. Until then, it was a waiting game, as she had told Amy. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was something. It bugged Amy. She had never received a threat like this before.

In Taylor's office a representative from Internal Affairs, Sergeant Stapples, was present as well. He did little to abate Amy's nervousness. Stapples stood to the side, eyeing the Captain with a weird expression. His small smile appeared cautionary to Amy.

Finally there was a lull in Chief Taylor's phone conversation; he held up a hand, the phone held against his chest as he addressed the Captain, "The DA's office is calling on behalf of a security risk. It seems DDA Rios received a rose this morning along with a note of alarming content."

Amy frowned at the Chief; the DDA had received a threat as well. It did not make a lot of sense to Amy.

Captain Raydor pursed her lips, "Tell the DA's office to send the note and rose to our lab for analysis." Chief Taylor nodded and went back to the phone call. The Captain crossed her arms and then turned to Amy, "You can go back to the squad room, Amy. This is going to take a while and there's no need for you to be here."

Amy heaved a sigh of relief and then nodded. She was half out of the door when Sergeant Stapples cleared his throat in disagreement. Amy sighed and then turned around, she felt a tightness to her expression that made it hard to remain neutral.

The Captain's mouth curved into a polite, polished smile. "I will relay the highlights of our conversation to Detective Sykes, sergeant, and as you are aware, Major Crimes are working on a time sensitive matter. Detective Sykes' time is better spent downstairs."

Stapples nodded and then waved Amy away with a dismissive gesture. Amy smiled gratefully at the Captain and then hurried out of the Chief's office.

Back in the squad room, Julio Sanchez waved Amy over to his desk as soon as she entered. Mike Tao was standing behind the younger detective and their attention was on the computer screen.

"What did the Chief say?" Mike asked with a curious look. By early morning, the knowledge of the threats had made its way to everyone. Amy suspected Lieutenant Flynn was the culprit based on the number of times the lieutenant had asked Amy about the rose and the note during the night and early morning. His expression had been compressed and tight; she didn't have to be a psychic to see the boiling fury underneath it.

"Not much," Amy said dismissively, "Did you find anything?"

Julio pointed at the screen. "Nigel Debor's phone records show he was often in the vicinity of a homeless shelter in the last couple of months. The phone is turned off now and we can't get a read on his current whereabouts."

Amy nodded; Nigel Debor was Jimmy Shaw's biological father. And, as far as they could tell, the father had been out of the picture for a long time, but was trying to get back in touch with his son.

"Debor is also in debt," Mike stated, "and according to the DMV and IRS, he is currently homeless and unemployed. He must have been staying at the shelter."

"Oh, we should go there, I'll drive," Amy suggested immediately.

Julio volunteered to join Amy on the trip to the homeless shelter, if they were lucky then Debor was either there or someone knew where he was. Maybe the father had taken the boy or maybe he knew something about the disappearance. On the way out of the building, Julio and Amy stopped by the break room and filled their travel beakers with coffee for the drive.

Julio was quiet on the drive to the shelter and out of courtesy he let Amy sit behind the wheel. Julio always seemed to know when she felt a need to drive; being behind the wheel was therapeutic in some ways. Fresh air and a clear goal helped clear Amy's head and she started to feel more awake.

The clouds were more threatening now; dark and completely obscuring the sky. On the highway, the sky opened up again, rain falling softly with small droplets at first. By the time they arrived at the shelter, it came down in thick torrents and half-flooded the streets, rather uncharacteristic of LA.

The shelter was an old concrete building with graffiti half painted over by gray paint, but already new street art was being painted again. The surrounding area was littered with trash and other human, or animal, leavings. Amy was for once thankful for the heavy rain, and glad she had packed her umbrella.

Nigel Debor was known to the shelter, he was a frequent visitor and had lived there the last month. However Debor had disappeared yesterday afternoon and left behind his meager belongings; a frazzled, old wallet with two dollars, photos of possible family members and a business card of a lawyer. One of the photos looked to have been pulled out a lot, judging from its fragile state, and it showed Jimmy, close to the age he was now, smiling happily in the photo. Debor had even left behind his dog; a golden retriever who sniffed Amy's hand before it licked her fingers. She patted the dog as she sat on her haunches. It looked well-kept and nourished, and happy to let a stranger pet it.

The manager of the shelter told them Debor had seemed nervous and out of sorts. The manager also insisted that Debor was sober and told them he was careful about staying that way. Amy and Julio talked to another homeless man who knew Debor, he told the same tale. Debor had left in a frantic state but he wasn't a drunk.

Julio stayed inside the shelter to call the lawyer from the business card in Debor's wallet, while Amy went outside. She looked at the graffiti and tried to think about possible scenarios; maybe the father had nothing to do with it? Maybe he owed the wrong people money? She knew she was making up hopeful scenarios, everything they've seen indicated that Debor had taken his son somewhere. She really did hope Debor was innocent.

When Julio came out and joined her on the sidewalk, his expression was grave, "Debor was trying to get someone to work pro bono on child custody," Julio told her, "sounds suspicious that he and the kid disappears at the same time…"

"The manager said he was working hard at getting his job back," Amy supplied, "He used to work as a garbage truck manager, he had a job interview next week."

Julio nodded, "Yeah, looks like he was trying to get back on track."

Amy frowned, "But what made him run away yesterday? Leaving all his possessions behind and even his dog? He must've known this would not help him with any child custody case."

Julio shrugged, Amy felt deflated; it was another dead end.

On the way back to headquarters, after a long beat of silence, Julio ventured, "You wanna go practice later, Sykes?"

Amy smiled to herself. Coop wanted to bug her place and have it surveilled, the Chief wanted a meeting and the Captain appeared collected and calm, but Julio knew Amy felt more secure when she worked out and got to slam dunk something heavy to the ground.

"At the range or the gym?" she asked him with a sideways glance.

Julio grinned, "Both."

Amy returned the grin; that suited her well.

…


	22. Part 21

_What transforms in the dark? Part 3_

Andy Flynn stood cross-armed on Denise Shaw's porch in cover from the rain. He unclenched his jaw and stretched his back slowly, sore muscles protesting loudly before he crossed his arms again and resumed surveying the front lawn and heavy rainfall. The many cups of coffee he had drowned, since being called into work in the middle of the night, had left a stale taste in his mouth. Staying up through the night saw his mood souring by the hour and he was on the brink of unleashing his temper on whichever moron annoyed him next.

The team was rotating between who stayed with Denise Shaw in case of a ransom call - which was the official reason anyways – and who searched for clues and witnesses elsewhere. Unofficially, Andy was snooping.

When looking around the house, nothing appeared out of sorts at first glance. The boy's room was as Andy had expected of a five year old; toys strewn across the floor, LEGO pieces here and there and a large human-sized teddy bear on the bed. The rest of the house was spotlessly clean and in order. That did not change the feeling Andy had about the woman; there was something off about her story.

Mike had checked into the migraine story; it held true but only just. With Ms. Shaw's consent, Mike had contacted her doctor and she did have a history of migraines. They had been treated with mild analgesics and the last reported incident was over two years ago. Denise Shaw had not contacted her doctor about any new attacks since then, which, of course, was not proof she didn't get migraines still.

Presently, Head-shrink Joe was in the living room with Denise Shaw. From the two uninterrupted minutes Andy had with the shrink, he had learned that Denise Shaw's state of mind was very fragile. Andy could have figured that out for himself without a fancy doctorate though. It was obvious, implicated in the crime or not, that the woman was falling apart by the seams. Hysterical, Provenza would say. Not that anyone could blame her. Andy would have felt more sympathy for the woman if her story was more reliable.

No one had seen her or the boy at the playground. Not even a family who had been there around the time of the disappearance. The neighbors said Denise Shaw was very protective of her boy; she rarely let him out of her sight, and yet she had waited two hours to report the boy missing. She had gone all the way home before she had called the police. Which she could easily have done from the playground; her cellphone had been in her possession. A young couple two streets over had seen a woman fitting Denise Shaw's description walk past their yard around 3 pm, but with no boy, and she had been walking in the wrong direction; away from her house.

Ms. Shaw's story was full of holes.

Andy watched as Provenza's car came within view and parked on the curb next to his Crown Vic. Finally time for a change of guard, Andy was itching to get out and do something more productive.

Andy greeted his partner with a familiar nod, his eyes zeroed in on the tray in Provenza's hands. There was two large Styrofoam cups in the holder.

"That for me?" Andy asked, already reaching out to grab one of the cups.

"No, it's for the other idiot standing in front of me," Provenza grumbled in true fashion.

Andy rolled his eyes and fake laughed, "Ha ha."

He took a sip from the cup and was greeted by the bitter taste of mocha mixed with sugar and coffee; sure to get him going. When the case was over, he needed to do a serious detox. The amount of sugared coffee he had consumed in the last couple of days was outrageous.

Provenza was wearing his white hat and carrying a newspaper under his arm. Andy was sure it was only used for crossword puzzle solving. Provenza was very capable of multitasking like that; solving word puzzles while observing whichever, in this case; Denise Shaw.

"Did you see Sharon after her meeting with Taylor?" Andy asked Provenza.

Provenza immediately drew a heavy sigh as if the question weighed him down. "Yeah."

"Well?" Andy prompted.

"Well, nothing."

Andy narrowed his eyes; he knew when the other man was hiding something.

"What? Spill it!"

"DDA Rios also received a threat," Provenza said with a heavyset expression.

That was the last thing Andy had been prepared to hear.

"It's got to be Stroh," Andy sputtered, "C'mon, the psycho is taunting us!"

"Is this what's been eating you all day?" Provenza asked with an aggravating voice, glaring at him under the rim of his white hat, "The Captain getting that silly rose?"

Andy shrugged, "So what, doesn't it bother you? Our Captain, and Sykes," he quickly added, "getting threats?"

"Of course," Provenza said but there was something in his tone, something in his glance, which accused Andy.

"I am merely concerned," Andy defended himself, "Proportionately concerned, I might add."

"I can tell," Provenza quipped dryly.

Andy sighed and dismissed any further conversation about this by taking another slurp of the sweetened coffee. It was not an unusual feature of their professions to receive threats of one kind or another.

Andy received threats yearly, though, come to think of it, the amount had lessened somewhat in the latter years of his career. Back in the old days, Andy had even sent back replies to those idiots who had been stupid enough to post the threat with a return address. It still amazed him; the stupidity of some people. Sending threats to police officers and signing it. That took a certain level of dumb-dumb.

Andy could deal with threats to himself, but everything was different when it concerned Sharon, of that he had to admit. Things had changed. Damn. His whole world view was different from just a year ago. He flicked the edge of his Styrofoam cup thoughtfully.

"Anything new?" Provenza asked, his head tilting in the direction of the house.

"Nah," Andy sighed, "The story's the same, only now she's insistent her ex-husband did it. Went on for an hour about his flaws and how she's trying to cut off contact completely."

"Oh," Provenza pursed his mouth, "Well that's new. Last she could not think of anyone who would have a reason to take Jimmy."

"Yeah, well now she's saying it's Debor, because she was planning on moving to the East Coast. She says Debor must have gotten that information somehow and then decided to take Jimmy before she moved out of state."

Provenza sighed, "She might be right; Debor skipped out of the shelter. Sykes says, the man left all his belongings behind and had been in somewhat of a hurry. However, if the man was planning to kidnap his son, would he not take his belongings with him? And his dog?"

"He left his dog?" Andy shook his head, "Anyways, as I've said, everything about this case is ambiguous."

Provenza agreed with a nod.

After a beat of silence, Andy asked Provenza, "Did you see the note?"

Provenza rolled his eyes, "This again? You want to see the note, then ask the Captain, dammit."

"I don't want to bother her," Andy sighed.

"Well, you're bothering me."

"Well, is it explicit? Is it vague? What kind of note is it?"

Provenza shrugged, "It's not obvious, exactly."

Andy frowned. "So, you have seen it?" he prompted.

"Christ, Flynn. Yes, I have seen it," Provenza grumbled but then he seemed to reconsider, his expression softening, "It was lyrical, or whatever, and said something about death and an abyss, and something about destiny. Your everyday scumbag-nonsense. But what do I know, I'm not a poet."

Andy clenched his jaw again. Just the notion that someone was sending his Captain threats made his insides roil in fury. He would have to ask Sharon otherwise it would just continue to nag him. Most of the night, when they had both been at the house, he had done what she wanted; focusing on the case and keeping his questions to himself. Instead of asking her the same stupid questions, he had occasionally stared at her. She had more make-up on than usual and her hair had looked curlier. Her lips had been femme fatale red, and Andy had been staring at them all night. Or that is, whenever he had been sure he could get away with it. Even now he could see them; pursing when she was thinking, broadening in a smile when he made a goofy joke, or opening wide when she yawned.

"You haven't found anything in the house?" Provenza asked, waking him of his short daydream.

"Nope, everything is spick and span."

Denise Shaw hid risen to the top of the suspect pool.

…


	23. Part 22

_What transforms in the dark? Part 4_

By late afternoon, the horizon cleared up and the rain stopped. As a result of the weather, the heavy rain had washed away the loose earth in Denise Shaw's backyard and brought to light two shallow graves. The gardening area was sequestered with wooden planks and small signs that detailed what were planted in which row. Between rows of thyme and sunflowers, two bodies appeared. Lieutenant Provenza had discovered the two graves by accident as he was getting a glass of water from the kitchen. He had looked out of the window and seen a shoe sticking up from the earth in the garden; he had called the team right away. The older man guided Buzz through the house and out to the back porch that overlooked the garden.

Denise Shaw was being read her rights in the living room, Mike Tao and Andy Flynn ready to handcuff her, their expressions stony.

Buzz had noticed the absurd expression on Ms. Shaw's face as he passed through the living room; the streaks of tears at odds with her dead gaze; she was devoid of any emotion. She snarled at the lieutenants; cursing them and heaving insults after insults at them. Lieutenant Flynn's expression only hardened and he continued with the Miranda Rights. The woman snarled again but she did not move or try to resist arrest when they asked her to turn around.

Lieutenant Provenza prodded Buzz on; the little offhand gesture to his shoulder reassured him somewhat.

Patrol had gone through the backyard as routine after Denise had reported her son missing but they had discovered nothing at the time; they had not lingered long enough to find the small bunks of earth suspicious.

Buzz walked behind Provenza, his eyes on the pool and the lawn that was immaculately green.

Doctor Morales and two SID technicians were already at the scene, wearing complete white plastic suits. They were in the middle of uncovering the bodies completely, brushing earth away with small hand brooms.

Buzz swallowed and tried to keep the camera in his hands still. With a deep breath, he stepped closer and started filming. He pointed the lens on the uprooted earth and the two bodies that were half buried, slowly filming the length of one body and then the next. On the grass, about two meters from the crime scene, were two gurneys and two body bags. He had noticed the coroners van waiting on the curb in front of the house right next to the cruisers with their lights flashing. It helped Buzz to think of facts and things he had just seen when subjected to something this horrible.

Buzz filmed the boy first, Jimmy, he thought with a deep sorrow. The small body of the five year lay with his torso under muddied earth and one foot sticking up into the air with a tiny sock on. There was mud on the boy's face and his green t-shirt.

"The boy has earth in his mouth. When I examine his lungs later on, I'll know if he suffocated or if he was dead before he was buried," Morales spoke over his shoulder to lieutenant Provenza and the camera.

Buzz watched the expression on the lieutenant's face darkening. This was the worst part, the part that eventually snuck itself into his nightmares.

When Buzz looked around at the faces of the people at the scene there were only tight expressions; sorrowful and angry, a strange mix that made sense to Buzz. Not so the graves they had discovered by accident.

Next to the little boy, lay the father.

Buzz filmed as Morales revealed the head of Nigel Debor, blood mixed in with earth.

"Mr. Debor has a contusion to his temple, possibly the cause of death," Morales commented.

The day ended with the gray clouds coalescing and the rain starting up once again. It seemed soothing to Buzz as he left the headquarters of the LAPD. It was as if the clouds shared the sorrow and wept with him in grief. Such a terrible crime, such terrible betrayal of love and trust, Buzz would never understand.

Once home, he took a long warm shower. Standing under the jet of water, he let the water work on the muscles in his neck. The warm water slowly released the tension that was knotted up in his shoulders and neck.

The doorbell rang just as Buzz was getting out of the shower. He threw on a t-shirt and jeans before he opened the door.

Doctor Morales was on the other side, a somber expression and a bag of take-away in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. For once, the doctor was not smiling weirdly.

Buzz would have found the intrusion, or self-imposed invitation, annoying on any other day but not this night; the rich spicy flavor of Ripassa and the cold tang of sushi helped ease his worries and lifted his spirits somewhat.

They ended up talking into the early hours of the morning; sharing stories of youth and happier memories. Sharing what had happened today. It was seldom Buzz found someone he could talk to in this way. There was no confidentiality breach; Morales knew what had happened, and, somehow, it was easier to talk to him about the horrors of their professions than anyone else on the team.

They shared one soft, breathless kiss before the doctor left, Buzz glanced out a window and smiled as the sky started turning light blue.

…


	24. Part 23

_What transforms in the dark? Part 5_

By late evening the following day, the case was ending; confession taped, the autopsy under way and evidence gathered and ready to be processed.

Sharon met Andy when he came up from having delivered Denise Shaw into custody. For a long moment they shared a sad, heavy look in the hallway, neither of them speaking. Andy approached her and Sharon had to briefly look away from his searching gaze. She had a bad aftertaste and a more heavy feeling that had settled in her heart since the discovery of the two graves.

There was something world-weary about discovering a dead child, and something even more atrocious knowing the reason the boy and his father lay dead in the backyard. Child custody. It was as simple as Denise Shaw not wanting to share her child. She had been preparing to move across the country, and Nigel Debor had come to talk to her and there had been a dispute of some sort. Denise had been short on the specifics of the dispute and what had precipitated it, but it had ended with Jimmy Shaw accidentally watching his mother swing a baseball bat at his father's head, repeatedly. Forensic evidence showed traces of blood in the entrance hallway and blood trails that led down the hallway and out to the back door and the garden. Denise Shaw had, before moving the body, given her son sleeping pills - too many - and the boy's respiration had stopped while Denise had been cleaning the house and burying Debor in the flower bed.

She had only meant to put the boy to sleep, she said. As far as Sharon knew, that might be the truth. Denise Shaw did not seem to understand dosages when it came to sleeping pills and how it might affect children different than adults. Or maybe it was deliberate. It was impossible to know. The whole ordeal, from the graves, to the autopsy, to the confession, was something that crawled into Sharon's soul and weighed her down.

And so, in the aftermath of cases like this one, she always felt out of sorts. As such, standing in the hallway with Andy, the comfort of him being close, she decided to invite him home for dinner. She felt in the mood for company, and not anyone's company, but explicitly Andy's company. The man had a calming effect on her after cases that wreaked havoc on her emotions. It was either drinking a half bottle of red wine and soaking in the tub, alone with her thoughts or sharing dinner with Andy. Lately, she felt more drawn to the latter. Luckily, Andy accepted the dinner invitation right away.

Once home they called in Vietnamese take-away from the couch, Sharon sat well rested against some pillows, her legs drawn up underneath her, and Andy sat sprawled on the other end of the couch, facing her. Rusty had texted earlier that he was at the library and that he would eat with some friends. He had another test coming up next week and Sharon figured that submerging himself in his studies, took his mind of the fact that Stroh was out in the free. While they waited for their food, Sharon drank cold water and stared out of the window to her terrace, lost in contemplation.

She could feel Andy staring at her. She did not mind.

After a while she looked back and she was surprised to find Andy leaned back against the couch, his eyes closed fast asleep.

Sharon smiled to herself.

She leaned back as well, careful not to wake him and looked out the window again, her eyes on the drizzling rain and her mind thankfully empty. That was the good thing about working through the night; she was so tired she did not have the energy to think.

Andy slept through the doorbell ringing as well, so she needn't have worried about waking him. Sharon opened the door and took the bags with Vietnamese rice rolls. She then made some lemonade for the both of them, arranged the rolls on plates, and found a small bowl for the soya and hoisin sauce. She carried it all in on a tray.

Andy woke up as she was setting the plates on the sofa table. She watched him yawn and blink.

"Fuck," he cursed and then his eyes opened up wide and he stared at her horrified; not that Sharon understood why he would be horrified with cursing in front of her.

She smiled, "Good sleep?"

Andy chuckled, "Yeah - only," he tilted his head from side to side, then back and forth, grimacing; "Now my neck's killing me."

Sharon smiled wider. This was why she liked spending time with him; he had the ability to disarm any situation and make her feel better, even when the day had been beyond horrible.

"So," Andy sat up straight, arms resting on his knees and eyes on the food, "This looks delicious."

Sharon hummed in agreement.

The food chased away some of the tiredness, the cold fresh lemonade perfect for her heavy head.

Halfway through the meal, she looked sideways and found Andy once again staring at her, this time with a silly grin on his face.

"What?" she smiled, "do I have something stuck on my face?"

"Yeah," he smiled, "a little sauce."

Sharon quickly wiped her mouth with a napkin and then pursed her lips.

"You've still got something on your chin," Andy grinned and imitated rubbing it away with a bent finger on his own chin.

"Well, you've got hoisin sauce on your upper lip," Sharon retaliated.

Andy rolled his eyes, "What, so it's like that, is it?"

She nodded with a badly concealed smile, "Yes."

Andy huffed, "I won't tell you that you have something green stuck in your teeth then."

Sharon promptly closed and covered her mouth with a hand, her cheeks warming up.

Andy grinned at her reaction, "I'm kidding, Sharon."

With a close-lipped smile, Sharon reached out and took her glass. She sipped the rest of her lemonade, her eyes on Andy as she observed him.

He was playing around with the last rice roll on his plate, the chopstick in his hands going back and forth.

He gave her a wry sideways look, "You want the rest of mine? I can't eat anymore."

Sharon shook her head, "No thanks. I'm all full."

"It seems a shame to throw it out," Andy sighed and then gave her a look best described as pleading eyes.

Sharon relented, "I suppose I have room for one more."

Andy grinned knowingly and nimbly placed the roll onto her plate.

Sharon took the roll up with her fingers, ignoring Andy's smug look. She dipped the roll in soya sauce and took a bite. The mint in the roll was fresh and the first thing she savored.

Andy meanwhile, decided to talk, "I love decompressing with you."

Sharon nearly choked on a shrimp.

She cleared her throat and then gave him a nervous smile, "Hmm?"

Andy rolled his eyes, "I said, I enjoy spending time with you and decompressing after the rough cases."

Sharon nodded and agreed with a hum.

"It's a thing I never got the hang of early on in my career, unfortunately," Andy commented, putting his chopsticks back on his plate.

Sharon furrowed her brow, "No?"

Andy shrugged, "You remember the old boys club; we never talked about our feelings or what the cases did to us."

Sharon felt a small smile tug at her lips, "Do I remember the old boys club?" she raised an eyebrow and then teased, "Of course I do – You made a point of never inviting me along."

It made him smile, "You didn't miss out on anything. We drank, smoked and got into fist fights with other divisions."

Sharon pursed her mouth, "I know, Andy, I was there to clean up after your fistfights."

Andy chuckled, "Yeah. Good times."

She smiled, "You know, I smoked. Once."

This took Andy by surprise and he grinned, "What? When?"

Sharon shook her head, grinning too, loving this sharing of stories, "After I graduated the academy. It gave me the worst hangover and I never touched a cigarette ever again."

Andy chuckled, "I can't imagine you drunk off your ass let alone smoking," he laughed a bit more, "I'd give anything to have seen that!"

Sharon smiled and then dipped the last of the rice roll in soya and ate it, the bite almost too big for her mouth; she looked away, trying not to break into a giggling frenzy and spraying food over the table.

"You know, I am very grateful for you, and for our friendship," Andy told her just as she was finishing chewing, "and the time we spend together out of the office."

"Oh," she breathed, feeling a bit winded by the suddenly raw look he directed at her; the tone was genuine and she knew he meant it.

Andy chuckled and some of the tension she felt, evaporated, "Yeah, who would have imagined I'd be saying that years ago, huh? You do a great job, you really do."

Sharon smiled, feeling at a loss for what to reply. She watched as Andy leaned toward her, the small distance between them on the couch becoming less. His eyes centered on her and his hand reached out to her cheek.

His thumb drew a short, chaste touch on her cheek meant to be reverent and soothing, instead it tingled on her skin and blazed when she looked up and caught his gaze.

Sharon held her breath.

She counted the heartbeats it took as Andy neared her, his knee touching her thigh. His fingers lingered on her cheek. Her mouth fell slightly apart and blood rushed in her ears, roaring.

In the last second, she looked down and to the side.

His mouth landed softly on her cheek, his thumb once again on her skin, under her chin in a soft caress.

She wanted to kiss him; she wanted to be kissed.

Instead she caught his hand as he drew away and laced her fingers with his; he returned the smile.

"You want tea?" She asked, her voice coarse, and she cleared her throat.

He nodded, amusement playing at his lips.

Sharon quickly rose and went to the kitchen.

Her skin was heated and she felt winded.

This happened every time they took a closer step towards something more, something more intimate, something that surely lay beyond friendship. She knew, that if she gave in just once, she would be lost in him, in them. And was that truly what they both wanted? Did she have room in her life for that?

"Any preference, Andy? I'm having jasmine myself," she called over her shoulder, her voice quivering.

"Sure," he answered behind her, his voice close, "Jasmine sounds good."

Sharon turned around with a surprised smile. Andy stood at the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes smiling as he looked at her.

Three steps and she could stand up on her toes and press her mouth to his; three small steps… she was more than certain he would reciprocate.

Instead she smiled and put the kettle under the tap. Andy found the mugs from her cupboard.

There was something intoxicating about the likelihood of a kiss. It stayed with her the rest of the night; when he brushed by her, his shoulder against her; when he looked away from the television and there was a glint in the depths of his eyes; when he reached out for the mug with tea in it, hands around the ceramic cup and his thigh so very near her own. She knew it must be obvious even as she tried to hide her attention to those small details.

It was a curious thing, the progression of their relationship.

It had become second nature to sit close to him, here on her couch and share a moment. She did not second guess that tightening feeling in her chest and the tingle beneath her skin when they touched; she knew it for what it was. It was not the first time Sharon lingered on the possibility of a kiss, far from. It was also not the first time she fell back on friendship instead.

It was easier and less messy. It was comfortable.

Or it would have been.

Somehow or other, she changed her mind completely when they said their goodbyes by her front door. She ended up pressing a hand to his chest, looking up and feeling drawn in by the complete unassuming look in his eyes. She stood up and brought her mouth to his, the soft feel of his lips against her own was wondrous. His hand hovered by her face and then his forefinger faintly traced the outline down her neck.

It was short yet felt never-ending and took her breath away. It felt like leaping into the unknown and falling, a buzzing feeling in her stomach and lips and head.

"Night," he whispered, and then he placed his lips on hers again, a soft peck.

"Night," she whispered back, smiling when he leaned down and placed the third kiss on her mouth before he stepped back for good. His face was brightened by a broad smile.

She wanted to say more, but instead she savored the three kisses and took them with her to her bedroom, and with her under the sheets as she delved into dreams.

Sharon fell asleep with a flutter in her chest.

…


	25. Part 24

_A/N: Take notice, this takes place ca. one month later than the previous part. Just so you're not completely confused. =) _

…

**26nd April 2015**

**Sunday**

**Los Angeles**

…

_What slithers beneath the surface? Part 1_

Sharon Raydor tried to stifle a yawn while stumbling half asleep through her apartment. She leaned against her kitchen counter while filling a travel beaker with hot coffee; she hoped it would wash away the drowsiness. It felt like she had only just said goodnight to Andy last night and fallen asleep when Provenza called with the news of a body found on the beach. Andy Flynn had treated her to an elaborate dinner last night, and somehow or other, they had ended up talking into the early hours of the morning. She briefly wondered if Andy was as tired as she felt; he must have gotten even fewer hours of sleep than her. She left a note for Rusty and slipped quietly out of the apartment.

Driving through Los Angeles at 6 am was a treat; no traffic and the city was very peaceful and quiet. It was, however, not what she had planned to do with her Sunday morning. She had wanted to sleep in and enjoy not waking up to an alarm clock. Then she would have lazed around in her pajamas, drinking her favorite tea blend while she would have considered turning breakfast into brunch, and perhaps she would have read a book. So driving to a crime scene at the crack of dawn was less than ideal. Sharon figured she had managed to grab three hours of sleep when her phone had beeped and vibrated on the nightstand with Lieutenant Provenza on the line.

The sky was clear in the horizon through the window shield and the sun rose with a golden glare when Sharon changed direction on her way out of the inner city. It was too early for the sun to generate much warmth, yet Sharon felt it on her skin and smiled; it would be yet another beautiful day for most people in LA.

The beach looked peaceful; the calm ocean lapping away at the sand, sea gulls flying over the water in the early light and crisp fresh air in her lungs through her rolled down window. When her eyes landed on the sight of the crime scene, she sighed; it was not a peaceful sight; the erected tents with the black LAPD logo stark against the white color stood out like molehills on a green field.

The many cruisers with blue lights flashing made it a hazard to drive through to the front of the parking lot. Sharon parked in the back. She belted her trench coat when she stepped out to keep the chilling morning air at bay. She debated whether or not to take her coffee beaker with her and ended up leaving it behind. Who knew what kind of blood bath the scene was going to be?

Navigating through the maze of parked cars, she soon reached the yellow tape cordoning off the area. Sharon flashed her badge at the young uniform standing guard at the tape. The boy lifted the tape for her with a bright 'Morning, Ma'am'. Sharon managed to produce a polite smile in return but only just. She stifled another yawn as she approached the tent.

At this rate, she would be yawning in Chief Taylor's face come midday. She smiled to herself; that would serve him.

Another uniform held the flap of the main white tent aside for her and greeted her with another cheerful 'Ma'am'. Sharon replied politely and wondered where these cheerful uniforms at this hour and at this kind of scene came from? Maybe it was not such a terrible scene. She almost regretted not having brought her coffee.

The glare of the early morning sun disappeared with spots dancing in front of her eyes, and a crowd of LAPD personnel replaced the view of the beach and ocean. SID was in place securing evidence, uniforms guarding the opening, and then there were Sharon's own people in dark suits standing around the body.

Doctor Morales was on scene in a sport jacket and a dark shade of blue pants. Sharon still had the memory of the Doctor locked in heated kissing with Buzz, a month or so back, popping up at the most inopportune of times. Like now. The three of them had come to a silent agreement; Sharon did not mention the Art Gallery and neither did the two men. What Buzz Watson or Doctor Morales did in their spare time, was none of her business.

Morales sat on his haunches with a concentrated, and somewhat excited, look at the dead body. Glancing around, Sharon found everyone looked awake to her dismay. She imagined she looked bleary-eyed herself. At least that was what she had looked like in the mirror in the car even after make-up had erased some of the tired lines.

Mike Tao approached Sharon holding Ray-Ban sun glasses in one hand as he spoke, "Morning, Captain."

Sharon nodded in acknowledgement, "Good morning, Mike."

Mike cleared his throat, "Our victim is Daniel Wilton. His name was sewn on the inside of his jacket and we found a driver's license in a pocket in the jacket that confirms the identity. His wallet was empty, stripped bare. Also we found what we assume is his phone; a new iPhone, cover broken and with no SIM card."

Mike then pointed at the victim's identical Ray-Bans that rested immaculately in the front pocket of the navy blue suit. "Yet his sun glasses are still intact."

Andy Flynn also approached her, dark sun glasses on, his eyes obscured behind the glass. He smiled though; a small curving of his lips that was directed at Sharon, "Morning, Sharon."

Sharon smiled back. Andy was wearing a light grey pinstriped suit, a light rose shirt and a purple tie, the ensemble spotless, he looked handsome. Last night had seen him in jeans, a t-shirt and his leather jacket for the cool air outside. In the back area of Sharon's condominium there was a small trail that led through a park to a lookout. They went there last night after dinner; one of the many reasons Andy hadn't left her house until 2 am.

Andy joined the conversation, a nod at the victim, "The guy is completely dry, not a damn hair out of place. It could be due to lying in the sun all morning, but it doesn't give enough warmth this early for the likelihood of that, and the coast guard says the body was never in the water – so that way, it's our jurisdiction." The last comment was said with an ounce of sarcasm that had Sharon smiling despite the circumstances.

Provenza piped up from behind Andy, "We should have rolled the poor dead guy out into the water, is what Flynn is saying, Captain. That way our Sunday would have been unspoiled."

Andy took off his sun glasses and gave Provenza a pointed look, "All I am saying is that the coast guard was only too happy to be rid of the responsibility. Like usual."

Morales got to his feet and then waved at Kendall to ready the coroner's van before he addressed the group. "I can't determine anything yet, not until I've done a full exam back at the morgue. That said, five minutes in salt water would, without any doubt, have ruined the Ermenegildo Zegna suit Mr. Wilton is wearing, and his skin feels too smooth for someone who drowned in the ocean."

Mike intervened, "Also, there are no tracks that would indicate Mr. Wilton was pushed unto shore from the water. Although a likely killer could have erased such tracks."

Morales nodded and then stated with a smile and a hand wave, "It's all very inconclusive at the moment, Captain."

Sharon nodded in agreement. She took a step closer to the body, her eyes on the features of their victim. Daniel Wilton had a sun roughened tan beneath the navy pinstriped suit, the dark color spotless but for specks of sand. The mint green shirt seemed to be as good as new and without any stains. Danny Wilton had been handsome, his features striking even in death.

"What would you say is the preliminary cause of death, Doctor?" Sharon asked Morales looking up from the victim.

Morales shrugged, "So far it would all be guess work. There is no visible blunt force trauma, no visible wounds but for the nose bleed." Morales pointed at the flakes of dried blood that stained their victim's upper lip and philtrum.

Morales listed off, "Heart attack, overdose, sudden death… your guess, Captain, is as good as mine."

"And time of death?"

"Liver temperature suggests somewhere within 3 to 6 hours ago," Morales answered, "You'll know a more exact time frame when I've examined him more thoroughly."

"Thank you, doctor," Sharon looked around questioningly at her team, "And this is a major crime _why_ exactly?"

Lieutenant Provenza had been short about the facts over the phone. Usually Major Crimes did not roll out to a single unexplained death unless there was a significant factor of suspicion involved. This looked to be something the Hollywood division could handle on their own.

Andy answered her in a gruff tone, "Danny boy here is the nephew of some sheriff's deputy a county over. Once patrol got his name, and someone called someone out of reg, well, you know how it goes when politicians gets involved."

Sharon pursed her lips; now that was more in lieu of something either Taylor or Pope would, without question, hand over to Major Crimes. Politics could make your head spin, even on good days. Sharon had spent enough time navigating through the sea of politics when she had been in Internal Affairs, and it was practically the same playing ground for Major Crimes. Sharon knew how to navigate such cases, even with only three hours of sleep.

Provenza jumped in eagerly, his tone condescending as he explained, "The mighty Chief Taylor was the ass who woke us up, right after he got the call from the Pope I am sure."

Sharon sighed.

Kendall came over with a gurney, the stretcher rolling clumsily on the sand. The two men kneeled by the body, readying it for being moved.

Andy rolled his eyes and blew out a breath of exasperation "Yeah, it might not be our jurisdiction but hell, if Pope says it is, geez – who are we to disagree. Hell, if -,"

"Oh," Doctor Morales gasped from behind Sharon interrupting Andy. The whole team turned around to regard the doctor.

Doctor Morales was once again on his haunches, Kendall by his side. They were in the middle of turning the body. Morales eyes were fastened on the victim's arm and the jacket sleeve that had gotten pushed further up in the process.

"Well, that changes everything, wouldn't you say?" Morales commented as he pushed the sleeve all the way up to the nook of the elbow, revealing what had caught his attention.

Sharon swallowed back a curse.

Guilty VII was tattooed on the victim's wrist. The skin was red and inflamed around the black letters. The familiar tattoo was back.

"Shit," Andy commented with a low sigh as he came to stand next to Sharon, his eyes likewise on the familiar sign.

Provenza groaned, "Not this again."

Sharon ignored both men, the tattoo drawing her attention. She narrowed her eyes and then wondered out loud, "Number seven?" That did not make any sense. Andy gave her a look, immediately catching on to what she meant.

"Where's the sixth victim?" he asked the team, looking around.

Sanchez spoke up from the back, having just come in under the tent, "Not on this beach, that's for sure. Patrol and SID have just finished combing the beach and there was nothing but the usual gum wrappings and used condoms. Daniel Wilton's car is parked in the lot with a parking ticket from yesterday. I'm having it towed back to the garage, and SID will look through it."

It was a somber discovery that made the day seem proportionately longer. Instead of an unexplained death that could have turned out to be accidental, they were looking at the reappearance of a serial killer. It complicated matters, especially since politics would now roll in over it.

A little over an hour after Sharon arrived at the beach, she was making her way to headquarters with Andy in her passenger seat. The man had waved Provenza off as the team decided to go back to the office. Instead he jogged to Sharon's side and joined her with an indecipherable expression and a comment of riding with her. Sharon didn't mind the company.

"So, early wake up call, huh?" Andy commented when Sharon steered out of the parking lot.

She hummed in response, her eyes on her side mirror.

"Wanna stop for coffee on the way?" Andy asked, "I could use some caffeine."

Sharon saw him fiddle with her travel beaker in the cup holder. He threw her a lopsided smile, "Your coffee is all cold, you know," he paused and then asked, "You want it?"

Sharon shook her head and then when Andy took the lid off and drank the rest of her cold coffee, she pursed her lips in amusement.

She overtook a slow BMW, her Hyundai speeding up on the outer lane. She glanced to the side, "We can stop near headquarters and order coffee for the whole team."

Andy yawned before he mumbled a low 'yeah'.

"And maybe we need to order a triple espresso for you?" Sharon said with a smile, glancing his way.

Andy raised an eyebrow, "Do they have a quadruple shot?"

Sharon shook her head, her eyes once again on the road.

"I was literally on the verge of falling asleep when Provenza called. You must not have gotten much sleep either, huh?"

Sharon shook her head slightly, a smile tugging at her lips, "Not really." She did not mention that the little sleep she had gotten, had involved half-lucid dreams about kissing him.

Andy chuckled, "What is it they say about old people and sleep; we need less, right?"

Sharon gave him an arched look, "Are you calling me old?"

"Nope. Not at all," Andy backed off with a low chuckle, "Only talking about myself."

After a long moment of silence, Andy spoke again.

"I had great time last night, you know."

Sharon hummed and gave him another smile; this one warm and welcoming. It was a sentiment he had already shared with her last night before he had bid her goodnight lingering by the front door. She did not mind him saying it again. These small reiterations of gratitude for their friendship were something else. It felt nice to be appreciated and to know he always told her the truth. Well, she smiled to herself, almost always the truth.

Once they were back at headquarters, Sharon parked the car while Andy ordered coffee from their favorite café around the corner. Sharon waited for him outside the café by the curb, her head turned to the still rising sun. She was beginning to feels its warmth, her black trench coat heating up.

"Here, take the red one," Andy said when he joined her, holding a carton cup holder. He nodded to one of the cups on the holder, two of the Styrofoam cups in bright red instead of beige like the others.

Sharon took the red Styrofoam cup and then tried a sip. She smiled at the sweet flavor, "Mocha?"

Andy grinned and explained, "It's going to be a long day, might as well treat ourselves."

Sharon agreed and then, on a second thought, touched his arm as she leaned closer. She was wearing low-heeled boots, so she stood up on tiptoes, her mouth on his cheek near his mouth. This close, his scent was overwhelmingly intoxicating. It was a short, soft peck, her lips lingering a second longer. His aftershave stayed with her as Sharon leaned back and said, "Thank you."

Andy beamed and then pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, the gesture very intimate.

Sharon could feel her cheeks heat up and she took another sip of the mocha flavored coffee, her eyes turned to the sun again.

…


	26. Part 25

_What slithers beneath the surface? Part 2_

Amy Sykes walked out of the elevator ahead of Lieutenant Provenza, carrying a large pink box with pastries in her arms. Amy had insisted they stop by a bakery on the way to headquarters, as it was Sunday. Lieutenant Provenza had commenced the customary complaining; something to do with 'sugar' and 'fat' and 'coronary arteries', but once Amy had entered the bakery with the lieutenant, the man had been loud and adamant on what he wanted and how many icing-topped donuts he wanted. It was like working with her grandfather, though of course Amy would never tell Provenza that little detail.

The older detective was grumbling under his breath as they made their way down the hallway. Amy was certain the low mumbled words were something about 'Sundays' and 'work' and 'nonsense' with 'Flynn' thrown into the middle of it.

One day, Amy should introduce Provenza to her grandfather; surely the two old men could find something to grumble about collectively. Amy felt a smile tugging at her lips imagining them sitting on a porch and complaining about everything. She only listened with half an ear to Provenza's grumble.

They entered the squad room of Major Crimes, the office was empty but for a perturbed looking Emma Rios. The lawyer stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed and a worried look at the blank murder board. This day had the petulant lawyer in a black dress and a purple cardigan. Looking down, Amy noticed nude heels that appeared unsafe to walk in; the heels high and thin.

The lawyer spun around hurriedly when she heard them, her look hassled and exhausted.

Provenza shared a questioning look with Amy, one of his eyebrows raised.

"Oh good, you're finally here!" the lawyer shifted on her feet, "Chief Taylor said you would be in by eight," the woman looked at her watch, a furrow between her eyebrows, "and it's closer to nine."

"DDA Rios?" Provenza greeted her, his tone on the edge of annoyance, "To what do we owe this visit? We are just getting started on a case, and frankly, I don't see how much good an attorney will do at this point. We don't even have a clear cause of death yet for Mr Wilton."

Rios pursed her lips, a pronounced pout. She then held out a plastic bag with two fingers, the grasp delicate as if she would rather not touch the plastic bag. Inside the opaque bag was a single red rose.

"I don't care about your case," Rios told them with pique in her tone, "I've gotten another threat from Philip Stroh. Chief Taylor said this was your jurisdiction."

Provenza grimaced, his eyes on the red rose.

Amy sighed.

It had been close to a month now without Philip Stroh rearing his ugly head. She had begun to think that the roses were a gesture of farewell and the serial killer had disappeared for good. Apparently not.

Amy found black gloves in the top drawer by her desk and put them on. Then she went to Rios and took the offered plastic bag. The single rose was unblemished and fresh, it's scent still heavy and wet. The half folded white paper alongside the rose was attached with a small white knotted string to the stem, it was square and appeared new. Rios pursed her mouth further, her expression annoyed and disinterested. Amy figured it was a charade, the woman had telltale signs of nervousness; she shifted her weight from one foot to the other constantly, and her eyes were slightly larger than usual.

Amy took out the rose, turning the flower around, her eyes narrowed on the petals.

"It's a short note this time," Rios commented with a glance over Amy's shoulder, glaring at the offending rose.

There was a small smile on the lawyer's mouth; like a gesture meant to relax the atmosphere but all it did was outlining the distress on the woman's face to Amy.

Provenza joined in, his eyes on the rose and note, "What's it say, Sykes?"

Amy read the note out aloud; "Do you ever wonder how much blood you contain, Emma?"

Provenza made a face at the words and then he huffed, "Short and to the point, not prancing around like in the previous notes."

Amy nodded, agreeing. Then she added, her eyes on Rios, "It's a bit different from the first notes we received." Amy had reread the notes the Captain, herself and Rios had gotten a month back till her eyes became bleary. She knew all three notes by heart.

"There was a lyrical disposition in the first notes. They were almost poetic. This is, as you said sir, short and to the point."

Provenza nodded, but then with a pointed look at the lawyer he commented, "Threat assessment will still show there is not enough of an explicit threat in the note to warrant a full, emergent investigation."

Rios compressed her lips and crossed her arms again, "I beg to differ. It feels explicit enough to me, lieutenant Provenza."

Provenza threw a wary glance at Rios, uncertain how to proceed with this case.

Amy interceded, "It is escalating, DDA Rios. We are not disputing that, but from a police point of view, we need more to fund a full investigation."

"Of course," Rios pursed her mouth, eyes dark, "Philip Stroh is smart enough not to phrase his little notes as outright threats."

"Maybe we will find more than a print this time," Provenza stated.

Amy nodded though she was hesitant on that; last time they had found a well-placed thumb print on all three notes of paper as if put there deliberately to remind them Stroh was free to send them threats.

Rios put her hands on her hips, "So you can't do anything, is that what you're saying?"

Amy shook her head, "No. We will send the note and rose off to analysis, and we can up the security protocol around you."

Rios sighed and sarcastically replied, "Certainly, I do so love having bodyguards following me around. It's very assuring for all my clients."

Amy shrugged. The woman was a civilian; she needed some form of protection. Even if the notes were not explicit enough to warrant a full on investigation, they did reach a level high enough to demand caution. The Captain and Amy could protect themselves, and the security detail for Rusty did not change much; a couple of hidden bodyguards, assigned from SWAT and SIS interchangeably, tracked the boy when he went outside. The detail had been installed the days following Stroh's escape, and Amy was sure the boy knew but he had yet to comment it.

Provenza waved at Rios, "Yeah, count yourself lucky the DA's office have the budget for your protection. Now, where was the rose this time? Taped to your front door again?"

The air went out of the lawyer. She sat down with a heavy sigh on Provenza's desk, her expression exasperated. Amy waited for the older man to tell the lawyer to go sit elsewhere; it didn't happen. He must have taken pity on Rios.

Amy felt bad as well. She could deal with threats like these – it was a mental exercise to not let it get to you. You needed all your focus on yourself and your surroundings, not on fear. Fear often stood in the way in cases like this; it would only be a hindrance. From the awkward firsthand impressions Rios had presented two years back when she had first showed up, to the unfortunate way the woman had of stuffing her foot in her mouth repeatedly, the lawyer had started to grow on Amy. To a point. No one deserved to be harassed like this.

"No - it was taped to the outside of my bedroom window," Rios answered, pulling her bottom lip under her teeth, her eyes on the desk.

Sykes narrowed her eyes, her mouth compressing as she fought an urge to curse. The invasion of such an action was nauseating and exactly something Stroh would do to heighten the lawyer's fear. Amy gently touched the woman's shoulder, a quick squeeze meant to be comforting. The woman looked up, eyes wide and almost brimming with water.

"Creepy," Provenza mumbled, his own gaze darkening.

Rios sniffed in agreement.

Amy leaned in and caught her eyes, "You can stay here for now, once the rest of the team get in, we'll update them. And then we will figure out what we do from here. Okay?"

The woman nodded slowly, half unconvincing.

Amy leaned backwards and grabbed the pink box. She opened it and offered Rios a pastry, her smile encouraging. Rios sniffed a couple of times, her mouth even more pursed, but in the end she leaned in and found a donut to her liking.

After a few silent minutes the rest of the team walked in. Their expressions changed from slightly annoyed to puzzled when they caught sight of Rios.

Julio raised his eyebrow at Amy, silently asking what Rios was doing in their squad room. Amy nodded her head at the plastic bag in Provenza's hands and the rose on her desk.

The group gathered around the older lieutenant, looking at the note. Flynn put a tray with coffee cups down next to the pastry box.

The Captain was on the phone and only briefly gave the rose and Rios a look, before she turned her back to the group and walked a few meters away. Amy caught her expression; there was a line to her mouth that Amy took to mean she was being told something that left a bad taste in her mouth.

Amy turned her eyes back on the group; Flynn had offered Rios a coffee and was reading the note.

"Son of a -," he commented with a quick look to Rios, gauging her reaction.

"It was taped to the outside of DDA Rios's bedroom window," Provenza told the rest, his tone somber.

Mike narrowed his eyes and Julio looked like thunder made flesh.

Flynn shook his head, disgust in his voice, "What about you Amy? You haven't gotten a new one, have you? Sharon hasn't."

She shook her head.

Mike wondered "What about security cameras in your neighborhood, Rios? Maybe we can find Stroh on one of them. When did the note appear?"

Rios shrugged, "I don't think I've seen a security camera anywhere near my apartment complex. I'm on the first floor – my window is at ground level. It was there when I woke up this morning." The woman swallowed her nervous smile, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her cardigan.

Amy took a bite out of a donut, the filling warm in her mouth, "It's worth looking into security cameras. Or maybe we can find the florist who sold the roses," Amy said, still chewing.

At that moment, the Captain turned around. She had ended her phone call and the look in her eyes read 'danger' to Amy.

"I have bad news," the Captain told them as she joined them.

The Captain crossed her arms, her gaze lingering on Emma Rios before she continued, "Linda Rothman was reported missing this Friday, Hollywood sent out a patrol unit after the obligatory 72 hours to check on her house. They found a forced entry in the back of her house, and Rothman was found dead in her bedroom."

"Linda Rothman is dead!" Rios exclaimed with sudden frenzy in her eyes. She crossed her arms even more rigidly and nearly crushed her cup of coffee, "The woman was Stroh's lawyer; she had privilege about him. Surely this is not a coincidence. I mean, the man is threatening me and now he kills the one woman who knew more about him than anyone else?"

The Captain nodded, a grave look, "Yes, Stroh is a likely suspect. We are taking on the case as well," she turned her head to regard the team, "Which means we will be breaking up into two teams. I need someone to get headway on Linda Rothman, and to find out if there are any definite links to Stroh in her murder. If we can link the threats to DDA Rios, Amy, and myself, and the murder of Linda Rothman to Stroh, that would be ideal. But first off, we need to know everything about Ms. Rothman and her life. We need to weed out likely suspects besides Philip Stroh so it will stand in court as well."

Lieutenant Provenza nodded in agreement.

The Captain sighed, "And the rest of us will focus on Daniel Wilton and our other, still unknown, serial killer. We need to find our sixth victim, or, very unlikely so, the intended victim. He, or she, may still be alive."

An hour later, after having calmed DDA Rios further down and situated her in the break room with her computer, Amy was once again driving through Los Angeles. This time she and Lieutenant Provenza were on their way to Rothman's house and the new crime scene.

Rothman was unmarried with no children, and according to her secretary, she had not showed up for client appointments Thursday or Friday. The secretary had called several times, but to no avail. Eventually the secretary had reported the lawyer missing after she had visited the woman's house, and no one had answered the door. The lawyer usually always answered her phone, the secretary had said in the statement.

Linda Rothman lived in a beautiful, quiet neighborhood with tall palm trees and green grass on well-groomed lawns. A suburban area, Amy noted, on the expensive side of the fence.

Amy drove slowly down the street, mindful of the joggers and dog-walkers that were about. At the end of the street two cruisers from Hollywood division were parked in front of Rothman's house, they had gathered a bit of a crowd from curious neighbors. Next to the two cruisers was an unmarked car on the curb that, no doubt, belonged to Robbery/Homicide. Amy parked next to it.

They met Sergeant Renner and the responding officer by the front door. Both men were wearing plastic covers on their shoes, and the officer held out two pairs for Amy and Provenza. Amy fished out two pairs of black gloves and gave one pair to Provenza. After equipping themselves, Renner and the officer took them through the preliminary discoveries.

The first thing Amy noticed, when she stepped into the pristine home of the lawyer, was the clear glass vase on the kitchen table full of fresh red roses. Two dozen roses with long stems; neat and primly arranged in the vase on the wooden table. Amy sniffed at the water and the flowers; the water smelled fresh and not in any way sour.

The house was spacious with wide windows, high ceilings, and a big lawn that expanded from a wooden terrace to a tall green hedge in the back. The house was spick and span; the floor and walls pristine with cool colors. The furniture looked vintage rich; not the vintage you inherited from distant relatives, but the vintage you spent a disproportionate amount of money on from an up-and-coming fancy boutique that was as distantly related to a thrift shop as Amy was related to a Scandinavian Viking. The walls were decorated with various elaborate paintings and looked as if they had cost a small fortune to Amy. She saw a couple of photographs in the entrance hallway; Linda Rothman in black and white pictures with various people; mostly other lawyers dressed in suits and then a couple of casual-dressed people that looked to be family.

Linda Rothman had been prim about her house and the interior; it was spotless, stylish and very modern.

The sergeant showed them to the back of the house where the door had been forced open. There was glass on the floor from a broken door window. They then made their way to the bedroom.

Heavy curtains darkened the room completely; the only light came from the hallway windows, throwing a beam of sun into the room. The officer drew the curtains apart and sunlight flooded the room, and there, next to the pale hand of the woman, lay a single red rose. It was staged artfully. The rose lay on the woman's open palm as if that had been the last thing that had happened to her; immaculate and unmarked. The room would have looked serene if Amy detracted the dead woman. There was nothing broken, no shards of glass to indicate a fight had taken place. Everything seemed to be right where it belonged. Linda Rothman was the only factor of disturbance in the room.

The bed was a four poster, the quilt lying neatly folded on a chair. The sheets looked expensive. Rothman lay half on her side, twisted at her waist, thighs apart and one leg half bent. She was naked from the waist down, a single lace bra half ripped apart and not covering anything. The sheets were slightly tangled around her waist and Amy noted marks on the inner thighs.

Kendall came into the room with his equipment. He quietly greeted everyone before he went close to the bed, examining the body and the injuries. Provenza had an expression similar to stone and told Amy to stay put. He then made a round of the house with Sergeant Renner.

Amy stayed in the bedroom.

"There are clear marks on her throat," Kendall said over his shoulder to Amy.

Amy stepped closer to the bed and watched as the man pointed at the strangulation marks around her throat. There were two different lines that ran vertical across her throat, bluish and reddish. The marks were thin and had been deep enough to draw blood in places. The killer must have strangled her with some small, thin wire or a string.

Kendall lifted Rothman's eyelids with a gentle motion, his gloves on. The conjunctivas were bloodshot.

"Petechial hemorrhage," Kendall noted, "strangulation would be the likely cause of death."

Amy only nodded. She swallowed back a lump, her throat closing up. There was an underlying hate to the crime that had bile rising in her throat.

"Marks on her inner thighs," Kendall leaned closer, careful with the sheet. Buzz was on his way and would be ready to document the scene any moment now. "Could be human teeth marks? Or something else. They look pre-mortem. There are marks on her forearms, and on her knuckles, possible defensive wounds. She bit her lower lip and went through the skin. There's a slight swelling at her right brow; possibly from a blow to her head."

Kendall's examination reached her feet.

"She was bound at one point. See this," he pointed at the small red marks on the woman's ankles.

Amy narrowed her eyes. That Philip Stroh was behind this, there was no doubt. To Amy it was clear as day. This was a statement. Bold and nauseating, meticulously planned. Stroh had some plan or other, and this was merely the beginning, Amy was sure.

"The bastard left a note," Provenza stuck his head through the door. Amy went with him to the kitchen.

Attached to the bouquet of red roses was a single note, white paper folded.

"Tying up loose ends," it said.

…


	27. Part 26

_What slithers beneath the surface? Part 3_

By midday the air was uncomfortably stuffy in the squad room. It was not stuffy in the way a humid summer month would see the rooms bathed in unbearable warmth throughout the day, it was stuffy with underlying tension. Glances were shared, breaths were expelled quietly and worrying frowns ended up being the default expression. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to get a breakthrough.

Emma Rios occupied the break room, surrounded by ten used coffee beakers and the stale smell of lukewarm coffee. The younger woman was tapping furiously on her laptop and she would look up with a drilling gaze that made it hard to linger in the room. Emma had twenty questions she needed answers to and even if Sharon wanted to find the answers for both the lawyer and herself, there was little headway to announce at present.

Sharon heaved a sigh and looked at her phone for the umpteenth time. No calls. She refrained from calling Rusty a third time in the span of a half hour. He had been perfectly fine two minutes ago when she had called the second time, his voice gruff with sleep and the noise of the television turned on in the background.

Out in the murder room half her team had discarded their jackets and rolled up their sleeves.

If there was a definite link to Philip Stroh in Linda Rothman's murder, then the division would be investigating two serial killers. Sharon felt a tad winded at the notion. Her fingers itched to grab the phone and call Brenda Leigh Johnson; surely the former chief would have a thing or two to say about the matter. Input was appreciated at this point, and once again, Sharon felt like getting input from Brenda on Stroh, she was not one to sit on her hands while Stroh roamed free, of that Sharon was positive.

Through her windows, Sharon watched Andy pacing as he spoke to Julio, his suit jacket was neatly folded over his chair. Andy turned around in his pacing and his gaze landed on her, the look turning questioning.

Sharon gave him a small smile and shrugged slightly; she had been staring off into space.

She should be working on the master search on their victim, Daniel Wilton. Instead she felt introspective and tense. Tense on account of Stroh, the murder of Rothman and the new threat to DDA Rios. Introspective on account of the man who just happened to smile back at her through the window; his smile was warm and comforting. His earlier words warmed as well, 'Focus on Daniel Wilton – and let Provenza handle Stroh. If it's even Stroh who's behind it all, I mean, maybe it's one of his former partners. We don't know.'

She let out a small breath. Andy was right, it was better to focus on the case at hand.

After a quarter of an hour with her staring blankly at her computer screen, Mike knocked on her door and entered, "Captain, I think I found Troy Desmond, our possible sixth victim."

Daniel Wilton had been accused of rape a half year ago along with a class mate of his; Troy Desmond. The accusation never made it to court and smelled of a cover up; the sheriff's deputy's son allegedly involved in rape, the girl going away, the families kept quiet, and nothing came of the accusations. And now Wilton was dead, and the other boy, Troy, was missing and his parents had not seen him since last Wednesday. It was beyond merely suspicious.

Mike had performed a triangulation on Troy Desmond's phone and the last signal showed him somewhere in the vicinity of Topanga State Park, north of the city.

Sharon sent out patrol and the cadaver dogs first, and within the hour, Major Crimes rolled out again. The crime scene was hidden behind a ridge in tough terrain, just beyond a dirt road. It required a short hike and was not at all a walk in the park with the midday sun beating down unforgivingly.

After just ten minutes hiking, Sharon's suit clung to her skin and she regretted wearing a trench coat; it was much too warm. The chill that had permeated in the morning was well gone, and gave way to an oppressing heat.

They hiked in a moderate tempo to the remote location of the second victim of the day, or the third victim if Sharon counted Linda Rothman. Mike Tao was back at the main entrance point, taking a statement from one of the rangers. Patrol was dispersed throughout; some were cordoning off the main entrance, others were at the crime scene cordoning off that area, and others still sifted through the park looking for clues and whatnot.

The trail was narrow with high wilted grass on both sides, and Sharon was thankful she had opted for more sensible shoes; no high heels, but warm, appropriate boots.

Andy was two steps in front of her, every now and then grunting something sarcastic about hiking and the sun. She smiled at him and nodded when the comment was meant to be humorous.

It was not that he wasn't funny. The man was funny. It was just… Her mood, she reflected. She was too transfixed by following his footsteps, the back of his legs and the firm muscle beneath the cloth, the outline of his behind and broad back drawing her gaze. It made her unable to appreciate the humorous comments.

This was not the first time she admired his body, but it was escalating somewhat. Her blood ran hot at the thought of the few, chaste kisses they had shared and her skin tingled at just the thought of going further. The sun was getting to her, she reckoned.

Having dinner with the man, almost weekly, created an air of intimacy. It opened a certain vulnerability in her. She had not been this close to a man in some time – years to be honest – and then it had been Gavin. With Gavin there was none of whatever it was she was tumbling with now. With Gavin she did not analyze her behavior or her thoughts like she did with Andy. The spectrum of friendship between Andy and her complicated things further, and she had not even begun to think of the consequences professionally. That was a whole different hurdle.

"You alright back there, Sharon?" Andy asked her. She got a little startled having been deep in her own thoughts. He had stopped and turned around, waiting for her by a large boulder.

Sharon tried a smile, "Just parched and too hot."

"Yeah, you and me both," he replied back, his smile soft. "I think patrol's got some water bottles, and, more importantly, shade at the crime scene."

Sharon nodded and followed him as he started walking up the dry dirt trail again, her eyes on the path and every now and then, she snuck a glance at him.

"So, what do you think?" Andy started conversationally when the trail started going downhill, "I mean, about Stroh only sending Rios a rose? You think he's targeting her next? Provenza said Rothman had received the same roses and a note." Andy gave her a sideways glance; he was trying to gauge her mood.

The roses and the notes had hung heavy between them all for close to a month now. It was not an everyday occurrence when several colleagues received the same threat, and between Rios getting a new threat and Rothman getting murdered, it only stirred up that lingering fear. Rothman was murdered after receiving roses and a note. It was nerve-wrecking to say the least.

"I'm not sure," Sharon heaved a sigh, "we don't know if Rothman received one or more threats before she was murdered, so, what's the pattern? We cannot say."

Stroh was a very likely candidate to be sending poetic death threats to those who had annoyed him during his incarceration, especially after his encounter with Rusty in the interrogation room. However, it was one thing to threaten those who went after him, but for him to murder Rothman? That meant either he was planning something bigger, or the lawyer had known something she shouldn't have.

Sharon had tried to get a hold of Brenda Leigh Johnson after they had found out the prints on the roses belonged to Philip Stroh. The woman did not return her calls, however, and whenever Sharon broached the subject of his wife, Deputy Chief Howard Fritz closed off. Sharon would have liked to know if Brenda had received a rose as well, or if she was trying to locate Stroh's whereabouts under the radar.

"You haven't gotten another rose and kept it secret have you?" Andy asked, this time glancing at her with a sheepish, concerned expression.

Sharon raised an eyebrow back at him, almost telling him the question was redundant. She was tempted to ask if that was the reason for his self-imposed acts as a body guard. Her lieutenant had been on her heel the last month, closely following her motions and being all too aware of their surroundings. With any other man it would have felt condescending. However Andy made it feel comforting as Sharon knew it was only out of good intentions. The whole team was on their toes, waiting. It was an underlying simmering tension; what would happen and to whom? The same low-voltage tension had permeated the air when Rusty had been on the receiving end of threatening letters from Weller.

Andy relented with a shrug and a broad smile, "Stupid question, yeah, sorry. Forgot who I was asking," he chuckled good-naturedly.

Sharon pursed her mouth, amused.

"Christ," Andy cursed, "This crime scene is in the middle of nowhere, it's what, half an hour yet to hike?"

Sharon drew a breath and stopped up next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. In front of them, the view was of the park, not another human in sight.

"Well, this qualifies as my Sunday work out," she smiled at Andy.

"Oh yeah," he agreed with a grin and then added jokingly with a look at the map in his hands, "hopefully we're going in the right direction."

She glared at him and he only chuckled disarmingly, and started walking again. She shook her head and followed. The trail became broader and it was possible to walk side by side.

After a moment of silence with the only noise the chirping of insects and Andy's low breaths next to her, Sharon broken the silence, "A part of me wishes Stroh would simply disappear, without a fuss."

She gave Andy a look, her smile guilty, "Selfish of me, but oh, wouldn't that be something; not to worry about him, or Rusty, or any of it?"

Andy nodded, "Personally, I will feel a whole lot better when the dirt bag's under lock and key - or better yet, buried 6 feet under."

Sharon pursed her lips, silently agreeing.

"I mean, I think we have enough on our plate dealing with one psycho at a time. Two psychos - I feel I need a raise in my paycheck," Andy said the last with a chuckle.

Sharon shook her head and said jokingly stern, "We are not discussing paychecks."

"Alright, Ma'am."

Sharon snorted and Andy gave her a pointed look, his eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Did you just snort at me?"

"No…"

"You've got the worst poker face."

Sharon compressed her lips into a firm line, trying not to break out in laughter. This was another reason she treasured their friendship; Andy had the ability to make her laugh.

Twenty minutes later they finally reached the crime scene.

…


	28. Part 27

_What slithers beneath the surface? Part 4_

The sun was at its zenith by the time Buzz finally arrived at the entrance to the Topanga State Park, he had rushed through midday traffic straight from Linda Rothman's residence.

The LAPD currently had the parking lot of the State Park and the surrounding area cordoned off. An officer and a ranger let him through once he showed his credentials as a technician. They waved him toward a row of parked police vehicles. Buzz parked next to the coroner's van. The heat of the day pressed down on him like a solid wall when he got out of his car, the air excessively dry and oppressive with warmth.

Rounding the coroner's van with his equipment bags in both hands, Buzz was pleasantly surprised to see Doctor Morales standing at the entrance to the park with Detectives Sanchez and Tao. Buzz's stomach grumbled in hunger as he approached the group. Buzz had yet to eat lunch, and breakfast had been a short affair many hours earlier. The doctor waved enthusiastically at Buzz before he directed his attention back to the two young uniforms standing next to him. They looked to be helping with carrying the doctor's equipment to the scene, body bag between them. Buzz reckoned they had been recruited straight out of the academy; they had that distinctive look of being fresh-faced, hesitant and eager.

Buzz imagined if the terrain was too unkind, a helicopter would sweep in and take the body away once the scene had been procured, and Morales had seen everything was to his satisfaction. If they had to take a long hike to the scene, then the likelihood of carrying the body back to the coroner's van was, luckily for the uniforms, not high.

Julio Sanchez stood with his arms crossed and an expression that was, as usual, hard to read. Mike Tao was looking at his own scribbled notes, his mouth pursed as if he was thinking. Julio had been on the initial run through with the cadaver dogs and he knew the layout of the park. Buzz was not even surprised that the detective had no map in his hands; Julio was better at finding his way than a GPS at times.

"Buzz," Julio greeted in a low tone and then nodded at Buzz's gear, "You need a hand?"

Buzz smiled gratefully at the offer and then gave the detective one of his camera bags, happy to have the weight off his shoulder.

Mike Tao put his sun glasses on, "I'll see you back at headquarters. Tell the Captain I've got all the statements, hmm?"

Julio nodded and then turned his attention to the others, "Let's get going." He then set off before anyone could get a word in, his stride long and determined.

Buzz gave Morales a sideways smile before he trotted to catch up with Julio. Morales was already chatting away easily to the two young officers, who did their best to appear interested. Buzz hid a smile as he waited for the doctor to start grilling them on a medical-related subject. And sure enough, two minutes into the hike and both uniforms were stumbling through the imagined scenario of finding someone unconscious, the doctor obviously interested in what they had learned about first aid at the academy.

It was somewhat entertaining to listen to in the background as the group trudged uphill. Buzz had to refrain from answering the questions for the rookies a number of times. Morales had helped Buzz a few weeks ago with his own first aid practice. As the doctor said, it was always good to keep it up to date, and even more so seeing that Buzz was training to be in the reserve. It helped that they had spent a proportionate period of that time making out as well.

The hike took a little hour, the tempo slow in part because of hauling the heavy gear and in part because of the terrain; ever changing from going uphill to downhill, with rocks and tangled roots on the ground trying to trap a foot, making each step precarious. And meanwhile the sun baked down, shade nonexistent and Buzz became hungrier by the minute. Also his throat hurt as the warm weather made his throat dry up.

Julio was mostly quiet. Not that Buzz had expected more than a few words and grunts from the detective; he was, in some ways, quite the opposite of the doctor. Buzz found a well-placed kiss easily shut the doctor up; or at least for a while. Maybe, if they were truly opposites, a well-placed kiss would make Julio speak up, Buzz wondered.

They arrived at the crime scene parched and sweating, the yellow tape at the periphery of the small clearing was enough of a giveaway without the presence of two uniforms guarding it, and a flock of SID spanning out below. The Captain and Lieutenant Flynn were already at the scene. They stood huddled a few meters from the body talking in low voices. They both looked up at the same time and greeted the trio.

The body had been covered with stones, Julio explained. The lower half of the body was still covered; the detective had removed some of the stones after SID had cleared it, to find an ID in the pocket of the dead man's jacket. The cell phone triangulation, that Mike Tao had performed, pointed to the body being Troy Desmond and the driver's license confirmed the identity.

Buzz put down his equipment a few meters from the body, mindful of looking carefully at the ground before setting his bag down. Julio placed the second bag next to it before he joined the Captain and Flynn. While Buzz took out his camera and put on an appropriate lens, Morales worked in sync next to him, taking out equipment he needed from his own bags. The two young uniforms stood awkwardly shoulder to shoulder, their eyes going back to the body with curiosity and apprehension with the body bag on the ground by their feet.

SID was doing a perimeter grid search through the undergrowth, spanning out. They seemed to be working in small teams, their voices subdued in the background.

Buzz readied his camera and then went as close to the body as he could without disturbing anything or being in the way.

"You're keeping me busy today," Morales commented with a smile to the group as he neared the body, putting on gloves as he went.

The comment fell somewhat flat, the tense smiles on everyone's faces not changing much. Buzz however felt a smile tug at his lips; the doctor's humor was an acquired taste, or maybe, Buzz found the both dry and sarcastic humor a delight in all the darkness that their working life presented. Or maybe he was biased.

Buzz filmed as the rest of the stones were removed from Troy Desmond, one stone at a time, until the whole body was uncovered. One of the upturned stones had a blood spatter on it that had been smeared and was now a dark color. Buzz zoomed in on it.

Troy Desmond looked to be in his late twenties. His hair was cropped at the sides with a few half-long fringes on the top of his head. The hair was half matted with coagulated blood and lay flat against his temple. He was clad in dark clothing; dark washed out jeans and a t-shirt beneath a dark purple bomber jacket. On his feet, he wore Nike sneakers in black.

Julio was standing with the driver's license in his hands; he went to Buzz and showed him what else he had found in Desmond's pockets. The Captain and the Lieutenant followed behind.

There were two torn out papers; on one a grocery list was dotted down and on the other an address along with general directions.

"The address is a local bar," Julio said, "maybe it's where Desmond met up with his killer? It's close to the Park."

"Maybe," Flynn agreed.

"Desmond also had a phone in his pocket, two condoms in his wallet along with a couple of one-hundred bills and his credit card," Julio showed the Samsung mobile and the contents of the wallet. Flynn took the Samsung phone with a black gloved hand, looking it over with the Captain at his shoulder.

Buzz filmed the ingredients on the grocery list and then the phone in Flynn's hands; the front glass was broken and the screen black, even when the lieutenant pressed down the power-on button.

"So definitely not a robbery gone wrong if his credit card's still there," Flynn said, "The killer didn't even take it for himself."

The Captain hummed in agreement, "No. It's definitely not about money. But I'm beginning to see a pattern with the broken phones. Maybe the killer contacted his victims on the phone. He clearly does not want us knowing what is on them."

Lieutenant Flynn nodded in agreement, his eyes resting on the Captain.

Morales cleared his throat and looked up. He was sitting on his haunches by the head of the body. He smiled and waved everyone over. Buzz crawled closer on his knees, making sure to keep his lens on the victim.

"What's the verdict, Doctor?" the Captain directed her attention towards Morales.

"Wrongful death, for certain," Morales answered. "Mr. Desmond has acquired quite the contusions, none which seem to be accidental from, say a fall. Here, for example," Morales pointed at the swelling and bruises on the dead man's jaw, a large spot that unevenly went up along the left cheek and another spot at the right temple, "Blunt force to his jaw multiple times and to the side of his temple as well."

Buzz filmed what the doctor listed.

Morales continued, "There's a contusion to the back of Desmond's head," the doctor carefully moved the head to the side, showing agglomerated blood at the back of the head and two flaps of skin hanging down and following the motion. "I even think he might have cracked his skull open here in the back of his head."

Buzz zoomed in; the white of the bone was visible between the open divide the two torn flaps of skin presented. It made bile rise in his throat but he forced it down and calmly breathed through his nose till the taste disappeared.

"Now, that's two visible blows to the head, so I'd daresay there's a big chance he acquired an intracranial hematoma or two. It could be a very likely cause of death. I will get it confirmed once we get back to the morgue, naturally."

Buzz moved closer and a sudden shift in the wind direction blew the smell of the body his way. He swallowed back a lump. The smell had not been as noticeable before, but now the combination of the wind gusts and the sun baking down along with the uncovering of the body and the temperature rising, the corpse released a more pungent smell. The closer Buzz got to the body, the more the smell permeated the air. It smelled of piss, rotten trash that had been lying in the sun for too long and a cobber tang, it made the inside of his throat close up.

"It appears Desmond might also have some broken bones," Morales said as he pointed at the ripped trouser leg on the right shin and the gash beneath it, the straight line of the shin breaking a bit in the middle when Morales moved it, "well, at least he has a broken leg; I can say that without an x-ray," he demonstrated it again, the leg wobbling and the fracture more visible.

Buzz looked away for a short second as he filmed, his eyes going to the grimace on the Captain's face. At least he wasn't the only one who found it all a bit disturbing.

"Does Mr. Desmond have the same tattoo as the others?" the Captain asked, her eyes on the arms of the victim.

Morales leaned closer and pulled up the sleeve of the jacket on the dead body. It revealed the tattoo; Guilty VI.

"He does indeed," Morales nodded, "Newly acquired, and," here the doctor leaned closer, "although… it looks more hurried this time."

The Captain leaned closer and Buzz zoomed in on the tattoo.

There were a couple of dark bruises on the skin beneath the tattoo and it was written with the same black letters, but it did seem sloppier written.

Buzz sighed.

Lieutenant Flynn cleared his throat, "So, what's the explanation for the two different locations, huh? I mean, we found all previous victims close to each other. Why the change?"

"Good question," the Captain agreed.

"The other victims were in regular contact," Julio supplied, "Maybe Desmond and Wilton were not. Maybe the killer knew he had a better chance of killing them separately?"

"It's still a long way from the beach to here," Flynn pointed out, "and why the State Park? – And why so remote? Seems like a lot of needless effort."

The three continued to talk, theories being exchanged as they moved away from the body. Buzz half-listened to them until their voices became too subdued.

"So, dinner?" Morales asked Buzz, giving him a large, inviting smile.

"Hmm?" Buzz startled from his thoughts, and then quickly pressed the stop button on his camera. He did not feel up to his personal exchanges with the doctor being showed in court.

"Between all the autopsies, maybe we could grab a quick bite downtown?"

Buzz smiled.

"Or if I'm too busy, maybe just a cup of coffee and a slice of cake," Morales gave the body by his feet an introspective look, "On second thought, yes, maybe I will be too busy for dinner. I'm sorry."

"Coffee is fine by me," Buzz agreed, "It's my turn to pay."

"And cake," Morales said determined with a crooked smile.

Buzz lifted an eyebrow.

"Combined sugar and caffeine rush," the doctor explained with a goofy grin, "I'm going to need it."

…


	29. Part 28

_What slithers beneath the surface? Part 5_

The heat persisted through the early afternoon and Sharon felt it like an outer layer on her skin. She felt insulated to her core; heat clouding her mind, she just itched to take a shower and wash away the day's sweat. The day ended on a somewhat sour note; stalemate as they waited for autopsy findings. Morales was going to be busy with three bodies, and besides waiting, there was not a lot to go on before tomorrow. Sharon sent her team home well knowing some of them stayed behind, even on a Sunday. They were all, in one fashion or other, dedicated to their work, so staying late was nothing out of the ordinary.

The apartment was empty when Sharon entered and the living room was stuffy from the sun. She opened the terrace doors and stood in the opening for a quiet moment, enjoying the slight breeze that blew in from the east. She was beginning to feel the lack of sleep; one yawn following after another and her movements sluggish.

It was too late to take an afternoon nap seeing she would never get up again. Instead she opted for a relaxing bath.

She shed her clothes in an uncharacteristic pile on the floor of her bedroom and put on a silk kimono. She briefly debated whether to have a glass of wine or not, and decided on opening a new bottle. A gift from Gavin's last visit, the Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand. She poured a generous amount into a glass and took it with her to the bathroom.

The tub took its time filling up, and she had sipped half the wine when she finally slid under the water, her aching muscles loosening their knotted up tension. She stretched her legs and submerged even further into the hot water. The wine glass was cool on her fingers and she sipped from the rim, her eyes closing. She learned early on in her career that taking care of herself was crucial, and relaxing in a hot bath after working long hours was essential to her survival. She felt her lips curve into a smile.

Her mind wandered and she breathed out a low sigh, arching her head back to rest it against the tub.

There was no more wine in her glass and she was too comfortable to even contemplate getting up to refill it. The water cocooned her in pleasant warmth, the sweat from the day dissipating. She forgot murders and serial killers. Instead she closed her eyes, mindful of not falling asleep.

The brief kisses she had shared with Andy a month back came back and she felt her lips curve and a warm pleasant feeling spreading throughout her body. Sure their relationship was complicated, but for the moment she chose to simply focus on that one special feeling he inspired in her.

The day had been arduously long and she could easily recall the feel of his lips against her own. His scent was easy to bring forth as well, overpowering in her imagination. It was a small step to go further and bring forth the imagined impression of his hands on her shoulders, squeezing and touching, ghosting across her skin down over the deltoids and the top of her arms.

She wondered what a real kiss would feel like. Not merely the chaste impression of his lips against hers but a kiss that went beyond the confines of friendship. At times she wished, he would simply kiss her out of the blue, and at other times that felt too overwhelming.

She blew out an exasperated breath, tension beneath her skin tingling.

How would he kiss her? Slow? She smiled. Yes, she imagined he would kiss her slowly and fully at first.

It was not that farfetched to imagine his fingers sliding down from her shoulders, down her ribcage and rounding her waist, holding on to her. She could imagine his voice, low, gruff undertones that would be more pronounced, the heavy warm breath of him breathing near her ear. She wondered if he was talkative? Would he whisper words to her between kisses? Would he be certain with his touches?

It was a brief interlude; her mind solely focused on the image, her breath stuck somewhere within her chest.

She ghosted her own fingers across her inner thigh, pulling on her bottom lip with her teeth. It would be easy to go further; to sink even more into the water and to release the tension inside her. But something held her back.

She exhaled rather loudly; she could not fantasize about her lieutenant like that. It was a sure way to complicate their friendship even more. She needed just an ounce of objectivity when it came to Andy Flynn; fantasizing about him was not helping. In all honesty, maybe she had already lost all objectivity. Why else would she be imagining so much more?

Sharon could admit that Andy had been on her mind a lot lately, and even in her dreams he was a frequent visitor, but there needed to be some barriers for her to function, both professionally and at home. Otherwise, she would surely become lost. She needed focus on her work, on finding Stroh and on keeping Rusty safe. It did not help much, that in some ways, she already felt a bit lost in him and the feelings he stirred up in her. It had taken her some time to even admit to those feelings, and it baffled her still. It was the contradictory aspect of finding herself comfortable in the friendship and then on the other hand wanting yet fearing where it was heading.

Fresh out of the shower, her body was still tingling from her unbidden thoughts. She quickly put on soft thin pajamas and then headed to the kitchen. She turned on to a radio station with slow jazz, the volume low and relaxing. Rusty would soon be home from his study session at the library. Sharon's stomach rumbled a couple of times in succession and after giving the food in her fridge a quick look, she decided chicken and a salad would do.

Andy had given her the recipe for one of his family's marinade sauces. Even when she tried not to think about him, he snuck into her thoughts. A half hour later, she was sipping from the second glass of white wine and looking out of the terrace doors, the food finished and waiting on the table.

A key rattled in the lock and she looked up to greet Rusty, the troubles of the day dissipating at the thought of some time with her son. She turned to the door and smiled. Rusty came through the front door half hidden behind a large bouquet of red roses. Dread trapped the greeting in her throat when she saw the flowers; fear started pulsing loudly like an erratic heartbeat, drowning out everything else.

"Sharon, you home?" Rusty called out behind the flowers, his voice shaking, "I found these outside the front door."

Sharon quickly went to him, her hunger forgotten.

They settled down the roses on the sofa table, both giving the bouquet a frown. There was a note. Sharon swallowed the lump in her throat. She touched a petal, half mesmerized by the deep color and half horrified by the implication.

Rusty took the note before she could reach it and then read it out aloud, "Sharon. Destiny is a tricky mistress. Our paths will meet, don't doubt it. I have something special in mind for you. Give my best to your son."

Sharon pursed her lips in annoyance. Stroh was insistent on ruining roses for her. In her marriage to Jackson, flowers had been a rarity. The few times she remembered receiving flowers from her ex-husband, they had come with regret and the bittersweet feeling of apology; 'I'm sorry I forgot. I'm sorry I let you down.' 'Forgive me.'

Sharon took a deep breath. She was not going to let that awful man ruin her evening, or her life. She gently steered Rusty away from the sofa table and towards the dining area. They were both too hungry to deal with the threat at present.

"But," Rusty started, his eyes going back to the bouquet.

"It's covered," Sharon told him and then filled his glass with orange juice. She gave him a reassuring smile, "I will call it in and we'll take it from there."

Rusty nodded half convincingly, his eye going back to the bouquet even as he sat down at the table.

Sharon leaned across the table, her hand landing on his, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Rusty made a grimace, "But what about you?"

Sharon smiled, "I have my Glock."

Rusty arched an eyebrow, "How's that gonna help if Stroh, - "

Sharon quickly interrupted him, "Have I ever told you that I have a perfect aim? I've won the annual LAPD marksmanship contest more times than any other officer."

The tension seemed to leave Rusty, his mouth tugging into a small smile, "Really?"

"Yes," Sharon said with a lifted eyebrow, half wondering if he sometimes forgot she was a police officer.

After dinner and watching the news together on the sofa, Sharon felt her heart tug when Rusty pulled her into a long hug, his arms enveloping her fully. She returned the embrace, feeling some of her own tension lifting as well. Out of the two of them, Rusty was most upset, yet he put on a brave face and tried to calm her down, holding her close, the soft whispered 'I love you' soothing.

She called Chief Taylor after Rusty went to bed; Taylor sent off one of Lieutenant Cooper's guys to watch the condominium for the night, to be on the safe side in light of Rothman's murder.

When Sharon finally went to bed, she slept fitfully and woke several times during the night with a need to check that the front door was still locked, to check windows and her terrace doors.

In the morning, she would feel better.

In the dark, however, her heart leapt at the smallest sounds.

…


	30. Part 29

**27th April 2015**

**Monday**

**Los Angeles**

…

_What makes courage wither? Part 1_

It had been a restless night for Sharon, yet she felt wide-awake at the moment. She lay a while and listened, her apartment was quiet in the early hours of the morning. The sun was just rising over the horizon; the first rays coloring the clouds that were present in the sky. It would have been a beautiful sunrise to watch from her terrace and cozy with a cup of coffee in her hand, but considering the new threat that had arrived last night, she felt too agitated to sit down and enjoy anything. It was like a rush of adrenaline surging through her body and keeping her alert. She felt unable to stay still; her arms and legs buzzed with a need to do something, and her thoughts were in disarray; unable to stay locked onto a single thought for more than a moment or two. She needed a distraction and as such she decided working earlier than usual would suffice.

She rushed through her morning routine; a quick shower and a quick survey of her closet before she decided for a pinstriped black ensemble of a pantsuit with a white blouse underneath. She clipped on her gun and badge to her belt holster, the extra weight of her Glock felt reassuring. She chose a pair of black heels and took them with her to the kitchen. Mixing milk with frozen banana and mango in her blender, she quickly had a smoothie. While she gulped down the cold beverage, her eyes noticed a spot on the kitchen counter; she wiped it off with a finger.

Before leaving, she knocked gently on Rusty's door and then snuck in to look at him. He was sleeping on his stomach and had the sheet tangled in his legs, his head was buried deep in a pillow. Sharon sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping at her weight. He looked so young and carefree when he was sleeping; hair tussled and no worry lines in his expression. She smiled and felt some of her restlessness ease off.

Sharon brushed some of his hair away and gave him a chaste kiss on his temple. Rusty stirred awake long enough for her to make sure he knew she was going into work and that she was going to up the security protocol on him, and a motherly reminder that he needed to be extra careful. As much as she wanted to take him with her and make sure he was safe, he was right when he said that he needed to go about his day as normally as he could, which meant going to his college classes. He would be safe enough in the masses, and with the added security in the background keeping an eye on him.

"Be safe," Sharon whispered to him with a small smile, watching as he sleepily crawled further inside his blanket.

Rusty mumbled what sounded like 'you too,' back at her before he fell into a slumber again.

She checked in with the security detail on her way out of her apartment and reminded them to be extra alert. She took the offending bouquet of roses with her, though she had half of a mind to simply throw them out in the trash and never think about them again, but she needed to have the bouquet analyzed. As much as it annoyed her, it was yet another clue as to the whereabouts of Philip Stroh.

Sharon had counted on the squad room being vacant this early in the morning, considering it was barely a quarter past six, and most of them had worked late last night. She was, however, mistaken. She let out a little sigh; she should have known he would be here.

Andy sat hunched over a pile of reports by his desk, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pencil in the other. She was determined to get sequestered away in her office with the bouquet in one hand and the coffee in the other, before her lieutenant noticed. She did not feel like talking about the roses or Stroh at all and she knew he would want to talk about it. She walked a little faster.

It was folly.

Andy turned his head the moment she made it across the threshold to the squad room, a broad smile on his face that disappeared instantly when his eyes landed on the evidence bag Sharon had put the roses in.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" he said by way of greeting, his voice like gravel. He stood up fast, forgetting the cup in his hand. The rapid movement made coffee spill over his hand and she watched as he hurriedly put the cup down, shaking coffee off his hand and cursing, drops of coffee falling on the floor.  
He then made his way to her, preventing her from going into her office first, "please tell me that's not what I think it is?" There was a note in his voice that felt new to her, a note of pique that was hard to place.

Sharon gave a weak smile, "Morning, Andy."

Andy's scent enveloped her as he stood close to her, eyeing the bouquet with an offended frown. It lessened somewhat when he looked up and caught her eyes.

She sighed and then answered him, "I'm afraid Stroh left another gift for me. Rusty found it in front of my door last night."

Andy leaned closer, his eyes scanning the bouquet as if trying to spot a fingerprint. He looked up briefly, "You got a note too?"

She nodded and that nagging feeling of fear reared its head once again. It was no wonder she had barely slept. Andy expelled an audible sigh and his expression turned soft, "What did it say?"

Sharon nodded in the direction of his desk, "Grab some gloves."

While Andy put on gloves, Sharon placed the bouquet on his desk and took it out of the plastic. She pointed at the white folded paper attached to one of the roses. Andy took the note and read it silently; the only indication that he was upset was the line around his mouth tightening.

When he looked up again, she was stumped by the angry expression.

"Christ, Sharon," he blew out, the tone disparaged, "You should have called me!" he lifted the note in his gloved hand, "this is disgusting."

She had very briefly thought of calling him last night but in the end, she had stalled thinking she could handle it just fine on her own. And she didn't want to make him distraught.

His brow furrowed, "Have you reported it yet?"

"I called Taylor about it."

That answer only made him grimace more, "Yeah but did he do anything about it, huh? This demands action!"

"The security surrounding Rusty will be heightened in the next couple of days," Sharon answered as she crossed her arms, mindful of the coffee cup in her hand.

"That's not what I meant," he said in an exasperated tone, "what about you? The creep is not sending roses to Rusty; he is deliberately sending them to you."

Sharon shook her head, "I'm a little too old for the likes of Philip Stroh, Andy." She pursed her mouth, her own voice now sounding annoyed too, "I don't fit his profile. He's taunting us, that is all."

Andy crossed his arms as well, his eyes on her with a narrowed glare. If Sharon had to guess, he looked angry, or maybe pissed off. Which was new, or rather it was quite a while since he had last directed even an ounce of anger her way.

"So, you are going to be all offhand about this? About your own safety?" He pointed accusingly at her, "If Stroh was sending these threats to someone else, you'd be the first to make sure they were safe; heck you made sure DDA Rios was well protected."

Sharon tried to deflect his anger, "I am capable of defending myself, you know." She gave a brief smile and then continued, "I'm more concerned with Rusty's safety. It is far more likely that Stroh wants Rusty gone than me. He's the witness after all. I had nothing to do with Stroh's incarceration, and killing me only opens the spot up for someone unknown to him to step in."

"Bullshit and you know it," Andy countered, the volume of his voice going up. In any other circumstance, she would have told him to keep his temper in check but something held her back. He had the right of it, she knew.

Andy continued, his voice hardening, "Knowing exactly what Stroh wants is tricky, and guessing is hazardous. He's a serial killer, Sharon. He hates women, so it's not that far off that he has his eye on you, okay? You are the reason Rusty's here at all to testify, so logically, you are standing in his way. And to get to Rusty, he has to go through you, right? So, all things considered, you need protection, just like Rusty, just like Amy and just like Rios."

Sharon arched an eyebrow. She felt on the defensive. "I am not a civilian, Andy. Which is why I carry a sidearm and am fully capable of defending myself should it to come to that."

Andy briefly looked at her hips and the Glock.

"It doesn't hurt to have someone look after you, you can't always be watching everyone," he sighed again, "and I meant no disrespect, Sharon."

She countered, "Then keep your voice down, Lieutenant Flynn."

That remark deepened his grimace. But before he could retort back, Sharon's phone rang. She fished it out of her pocket, happy for the interruption. Doctor Morales was on the line. He was ready to present his findings. Andy gave her a probing look while she talked and when she hung up his mouth was pursed in indignation.

"Are you accompanying me to the morgue?" Sharon asked him, turning on her heel before he could answer.

"Yeah," she heard him grumble behind her back.

Sharon deposited her bag and laptop in her office, Andy leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, glaring at her. She paid him no attention, picked up her tablet and decided to bring her coffee cup with her. Maybe the doctor wanted the coffee; she had lost the thirst for it.

She made her way to the elevators, her lieutenant on her heel. She knew he had the best intentions, and she knew why the situation felt raw for them both, but still. The roses had affected her more than she had first thought; she felt vulnerable, and hated it.

As they waited for the elevator, Sharon could see the muscles in his jaw work and then clench; he was staring at her. She pursed her lips, dissuading him from speaking his mind.

She had forgotten how infuriating Andy Flynn could be when he put his mind to it.

…


	31. Part 30

_What makes courage wither? Part 2_

Monday dawned bright and hot, but Doctor Morales neither saw nor felt it; the artificial light and coldness of the morgue being his substitute. He started late Sunday evening and worked through most of the night. The two hours of rest he rewarded himself, was spent driving home and showering with a half hour nap on the couch and then driving back to the morgue to finish the last autopsy as Monday morning was barely dawning. The clear blue skies outside the window shield of his car held none of his attention. He was focused on the puzzles the murder victims presented; images and possible scenarios bounced around in his mind's eye.

Kendall had come in early and helped with the tagging of evidence before it was being sent off for lab analysis. The younger man worked efficiently and was only happy to get the extra experience. Tissue samples from three bodies were a lot to handle and having a pair of extra hands was a godsend, and Morales told him as much.

While Kendall worked quietly by one of the rolling tables, Morales prepped the morgue. He put the relevant CT and X-ray scans up on the light board, covered the victims with white linen to their necks and consulted the clipboard with his notes while standing up and down on his toes. Finding everything to his satisfaction, he smiled and gave a small cheer, surprising Kendall somewhat. Morales felt ready to pass on information to the police and called the Captain down.

Out in the morgue's hallway, he greeted Captain Raydor and Lieutenant Flynn. The two looked fresh-faced and awake, but something seemed a little off; the Captain deliberately stood a good space away from the Lieutenant with her arms crossed and studying a spot on the opposite wall. The Lieutenant stood with his hands in the pockets of his pants, the suit of the day; a pinstriped gray one with turquoise shirt. His eyes were centered on the Captain with a questioning glance, a worrying frown that only deepened. The atmosphere seemed if not tense then a little awkward. Morales had gotten used to those two standing on top of each other, especially if they thought no one was watching, them standing apart spoke of something going on.

They both looked up with a start when Morales came through the morgue door, relief painted on their features at the interruption.

"Morning folks," Morales smiled cheerfully, his eyes on the Styrofoam cup of coffee Sharon Raydor held out for him. She always thought of others, Morales had come to acknowledge and he smiled thankfully at her. Throughout his whole career working with the LAPD not once had an officer thought of bringing him coffee, let alone more than once. But the Captain, she brought it on a regular basis.

"Morning, doctor," she replied back in a smooth, low tone. Upon closer inspection, Morales could distinct the small lines of exhaustion in her expression that were probably remnants from yesterday.

"You ready for the show and tell?"

"Yeah, yeah," Lieutenant Flynn groused groggily, his demeanor impatient.

The Captain smiled warmly at Morales and he read the 'don't mind the grump' in her look as she side-eyed the Lieutenant out of the corner of her eye.

Morales nodded; he had learned a long time ago to never mind the grumpy ones. He held the door open for the two, ushering them inside with a hand gesture.

"So, who do you wanna start with?" Morales asked before he took a sip from the coffee cup. The lukewarm coffee was just what he needed. He sighed contently.

"Let's start with Linda Rothman," the Captain answered promptly, her attention already on the dead woman. Morales understood the urgent tone of tension in her voice well; she wanted to know if Philip Stroh was behind the murder or not.

Morales walked up to stand at the table that held Rothman, watching as the two followed suit; the Lieutenant standing behind the Captain with his arms crossed and his mouth downturned. Morales looked down at the dead woman. He had met her only once, and that had been in brief passing.

"The cause of death is strangulation. The killer used a knotted string that cut through the skin, some places as deep as the muscle tissue. Judging from the bruises and the patterns, I would say the killer used the string a number of times before she died," he pointed at the lines that ran across the pale of her throat, "I found some traces of foreign particles in the wounds and it's going off to analysis. Maybe it will tell us a bit more about the string and its composites."

The two nodded in unconscious synchronization, Lieutenant Flynn moved a little so he stood next to the Captain as if to better see what Morales was pointing out.

Morales walked around the table and pointed at her arms and feet, "She has defensive wounds and contusions consistent with being held down. I found some fibers that might belong to a rope or a string and I'm having that analyzed as well. Time of death would be around late Thursday night or early Friday morning."

Morales paused.

"What about sexual violence?" the Captain asked, her look somber as she studied the pale face of Rothman.

"I found DNA samples and she was most likely raped prior to death. I took a casting of the teeth marks on her thighs and seeing we have both Stroh's dental records and DNA in hand, we will know soon enough if it's a match."

They both looked up with abrupt surprised expressions; the last information seemed to be a sort of relief for the two officers.

"Really?" Lieutenant Flynn asked his arms coming uncrossed as he took a step closer to the table. His tone was somewhat excited, "so, we can have a likely match, tomorrow maybe?"

"Later today," Morales replied, "If it's Stroh it won't take that much time to affirm it. I just need the casting to dry before I can run a comparison test and the DNA comparison will run quickly too."

"That is good news, doctor," the Captain nodded, "anything else on Rothman we need to know?"

"That's about it. We will know more once the lab results are back. So far, there's no evidence to suggest she was drugged, but I'm having blood samples analyzed anyway."

They both nodded in unison again. With Stroh's background it was more than likely he would drug his victims than not. Serial rapist and serial killers tended toward a routine that never wavered much.

"Okay, onwards," Morales drew a small breath and then moved to the two other victims in the room.

"Daniel Wilton and Troy Desmond. First up, their murders would appear unrelated if not for the tattoo on their wrists. In fact, however, the autopsy revealed they died in much the same way. Rather peculiar, if you ask me."

"How so?" the Lieutenant asked, shifting his glance between the two men on the tables.

Morales turned around and walked to the light board, his index finger tapping on the bottom of two CT scans; they showed the abdomens of the two victims in a frontal view. It was procedure nowadays to always do a pre-autopsy full body CT scan, and this time the results had been rather surprising.

"Both Wilton and Desmond had foreign objects in their digestive systems," Morales told the two officers.

Both Captain Raydor and Lieutenant Flynn came closer, narrowing their eyes as they looked at the lighted up images of the two men's internal organs.

"Is that packed condoms?" Lieutenant Flynn asked, his tone incredulous as he tilted his head and looked closer at the scans. The Captain pursed her lips in disgust.

For a moment Morales was stumped that the Lieutenant was able to see it. But then again, Flynn had worked in Robbery/Homicide before Major Crimes. The Lieutenant must have had a few stints with the Narcotics Unit, and so of course Flynn would know the looks of packed condoms in the stomach.

"Indeed it is," Morales finally answered, "However, unlike certain drug smugglers, the condoms were not filled with heroin or cocaine. I tested the contents with quick kits but they were negative. I just got back a preliminary result on the spectrometry and it is the benzodiazepine Flunitrazepam."

"Rohypnol?" the Captain repeated, her nose scrunching up in a mixture of disbelief and horror.

"With a small margin for error of course, though from the sample I analyzed I am certain it is just that. Both victims had four condoms filled with the powder from the pills in their large intestine. The condoms eventually ruptured, and voila, both men died from extreme benzodiazepine intoxication."

"Rohypnol in their large intestine?" the Captain repeated, "You said it was in powder form and not preformed pills?"

Morales nodded, "Yes. Some work it would have acquired to take so many pills apart and redistribute the powder into the condoms."

"How many pills would you guess was in all condoms, all in all?" the Lieutenant asked, a finger tapping his chin, his look thoughtful.

"Many," Morales smiled, "Actually, it's a rather big quantity. I'll weigh whatever's left in the condoms and make an estimate from there. I'll let you know then."

They both nodded.

The Captain pursed her lips, "The condoms, doctor… how exactly were they administered? Were Wilton and Desmond conscious? Or..?"

Flynn interrupted with a furrow between his eyebrows, "and how in the world is the killer certain the condoms would rupture?"

Morales smiled and addressed Flynn's question first, "I had the same thought myself, so I put them under the microscope, and I found that the condoms were, shall we say, somewhat weakened. All eight condoms had miniscule holes in them, meant to rupture after a certain period of time, only one of them needed to break open to kill. I'd imagine the killer used four condoms to be certain that at least one condom would rupture."

The Captain hummed contemplatively.

Morales continued, his eyes turning on the Captain, "A qualified guess as to how they were administered; I would say the killer forced the two men to swallow the condoms under severe threat, maybe at gun point or at knife point. It would have been difficult to force four packed condoms into their throats and make them swallow if they were sedated or unconscious. The condoms were far enough along in their digestive systems to suggest it happened hours prior to death."

"That is just weird," Lieutenant Flynn commented with grimace, "This whole thing is just weird on top of weird."

Morales agreed with a nod and then moved away from the two bodies. He beckoned for the couple to follow him to the light board.

"Rohypnol in condoms aside, there are some differences between the two deaths. Whereas Wilton was largely unharmed prior to the poisoning, Desmond received a severe beating; both before and after his death. His fibula was broken along with the distal part of his radius and he suffered from multiple rib fractures." Morales pointed at the x-ray of Desmond's right leg, right wrist and the x-ray of his thorax. "He received a nasty blow to the head as well, but from what I can determine, the beatings were not the definitive cause of death. The benzodiazepine poisoning is the largest factor at play here. Without the rohypnol, Desmond could have lived with the right care."

"So, the anger was directed at Desmond?" the Captain commented, her eyes going to the mentioned victim.

Morales nodded, "Most of it, certainly. Wilton had no bruises or fractures or anything that suggests he was beaten like Desmond. Though both men had their genitals smashed post mortem, which seems to suggest anger was directed at both of them, and quite a specific place too."

Flynn grimaced, "Smashed?"

"To a pulp," Morales replied with a nod and he pointed at the x-ray of Desmond's and Wilton's shattered pelvic floor, "Both men had small pelvic fractures which suggests blunt force trauma. If this had happened before their death, there would have been the possibility of both men bleeding out. There's no hemorrhage in the pelvic region of either. So it happened post mortem."

"There seems to be a lot of hate behind this," the Captain thought out aloud, "so much, that it also takes place after death. In comparison to the previous killings, I would say the violence is escalating?" the last she directed to Flynn, her eyebrow raised in question.

The Lieutenant nodded, "Yeah, I would say that too. The disembowelment was pretty hateful but this takes the top."

"Though, if both men were killed because of the rape charges, then the violence against their genitals makes more sense," the Captain commented.

Flynn nodded, "Yeah, hateful but not without cause."

Morales agreed with them, "That would explain it, yes. Now, in regards to the tattoos, I've compared them to the four previous victims' tattoos, and it's the same pattern and writing. And just like our previous four victims, it's also located on their left wrist."

The Captain sighed, "Anything that says something conclusive about the killer? Prints? DNA samples?"

"Not much, though I found some hair on Desmond that isn't his own. If you find a suspect we can try for a match."

"What kind of hair?" Lieutenant Flynn asked.

"Blond and half long," Morales said, "It's being analyzed as well," he paused, "before you go, a curiosity; the lab test is back on our two disembowelment victims from last month. Both were drugged with Flunitrazepam as well. In a much smaller dose, but enough to sedate both of them."

"That _is_ curious," the Captain said with a frown.

"Yes, it's another link between out victims besides the obvious tattoos," Morales said before he took a sip from the coffee cup, it was still warm; bless the Styrofoam cups and their lids!

"Yeah, maybe we can find someone who's buying a lot of Rohypnol," Flynn supplied.

"Thank you doctor," the Captain said with a small gracious smile.

Morales nodded back and then watched the two walk out of his morgue, the Captain walking first in a quick stride, the Lieutenant following after her. After the door closed behind them, Morales went to Kendall who was silently immersed in collecting and coordinating samples. Morales wondered what Buzz was doing at the moment; maybe he should pay the technician a visit.

…


	32. Part 31

_What makes courage wither? Part 3_

Amy Sykes looked pensively at the two murder boards the team had assembled in the squad room; Lieutenant Provenza had pulled rank on Robbery/Homicide, or so Amy deduced from the one-sided phone conversation, and then the older lieutenant had made Buzz roll the second board up from downstairs. Robbery/Homicide had rudely told Buzz off about what they had called 'thieving' and the tech had not looked happy when he came back up, the board rolling in front of him. Amy hid a smile as she listened to Buzz telling Provenza what Robbery/Homicide had said, word for word. Nevertheless, Major Crimes was now in the possession of an extra board.

One of the boards was for the 'guilty tattoo' serial killings, all six victims up on the board along with highlights and time lines in Lieutenant Flynn's neat, legible handwriting. The lieutenant's usual handwriting was illegible, but when he wrote on the board in a slow tempo that had Provenza rolling his eyes and Amy smiling at the sight, the words were large and precise. The other board was for Stroh, and the one Amy was working on along with Provenza and Mike Tao. Half of it was reserved for the investigation into the murder of Linda Rothman and the other half held the threats from Stroh.

Doctor Morales had called five minutes ago with the dental match from the teeth marks on Rothman and the DNA match. Amy had added Stroh's name to the board as the suspect. It was one thing to know in your gut that it was Stroh behind the murder, and a whole different feeling having that backed up with real evidence that would hold in court. She smiled relieved. The Captain made a brief appearance to hum as she looked at the board and at Stroh's name, her hand on Amy's shoulder giving a little squeeze before she went back into her office.

The time line for Linda Rothman was moving at a snail's pace and Amy spent the better part of the day trying to piece together the puzzle of the woman's whereabouts up until her death; Rothman had been to work Wednesday, the security guard together with security videos at the law firm, where she worked, had confirmed that. The lawyer left late at night and Thursday morning she had appeared early, but had left again before lunch, which was unusual of her according to the secretary. After that she had not come back into work and she had canceled a meeting with a potential client. So far it appeared the woman had gone home late Thursday evening to her house and stayed there. The lawyer had been killed sometime between that and early next morning. It did not tell Amy much.

Amy turned her attention to the bouquet of roses, she was sure Stroh had brought them with him. It was impossible to find where the bouquet was purchased without a delivery boy or any other distinguishing mark. Nevertheless, Provenza was supervising a search of the florists near Rothman's residence with rookies out of the academy. So far, no one had seen a man with Stroh's description buy roses or any other kind of flower.

"Any headway, Amy?" Mike asked her, swiveling around on his chair to face her.

"A bit," Amy nodded from behind the computer. She moved the cursor and went back to the cross-database search engine before she looked up to meet Mike's eyes, "From the canvassing we have a couple of neighbors reporting a white van or station car parked in Rothman's driveway along with her own silver Mercedes the night to Friday and early Friday morning. The Garbage man saw it as well when he went on his round at 5 am."

Mike tilted his head, "So Stroh might have a car?"

"I'm currently checking cars and vans," Buzz supplied, having heard the end tail of the conversation. He came from the break room carrying two cups of coffee and he gave one of them to Amy.

Buzz continued, "So far, I haven't seen a white car matching the description at any of the nearby traffic cams," he sipped from his mug, "but I still have a few cams to go through."

"It could be a rental," Mike offered with a thoughtful expression, his eyes on Buzz.

Buzz nodded, "I'm checking into that as well. I'm only waiting for Detective Sykes' warrant to go through, the rental places aren't big on sharing if they don't have to, legally."

Amy sipped the coffee while she listened.

"Rothman is not very active on Facebook or any other social media site; the last entry she made on Facebook is over four months old," Mike told them, "I have her credit card statements but there's nothing out of the ordinary on them."

"I sent the warrant for her practice to Judge Grove, in regards to her defense of Stroh," Amy informed the two men, "Just waiting for a signature. Maybe it will tell us something we don't know."

"It is likely," Mike agreed nodding.

"Maybe her defense will reveal a reason for Stroh to have killed her," Buzz wondered out loud as he sipped from his cup of coffee.

"You mean, aside from him being a bleeping psychopath?" Lieutenant Flynn commented from behind Amy. She looked over her shoulder; the lieutenant's expression was painted by annoyance and underlined with his arms crossed. To Amy he looked to be at the brink of biting someone's head off.

"Stroh could very well be working with a partner again," Mike added.

"I'm sure Stroh has his own repertoire of psychopaths to choose from," Flynn said, "just imagine how many he cultivated before we caught him. I bet burning man and the rest are just the top of the iceberg."

Mike tilted his head and gave Flynn a teasing smile, "As a matter of fact, Andy, that term is outdated. We are not calling them psychopaths anymore, the proper term is dissocial personality disorder."

Amy almost laughed at the funny grimace Flynn made. She had to hide her grin behind the coffee cup and turned away from Flynn, afraid she would laugh out loud if she kept looking at him. Flynn would surely be directing his annoyance her way if she laughed.

Flynn shook his head, "Word play nonsense, Mike. Dissocial or psychopath, what's the difference, huh? A psychopath's a psychopath."

"Well," Mike started in a characteristic exuberant tone and Amy smiled to herself, already knowing this would lead to a lecture on psychology, "it's actually a genuine distinction. Psychopath is not a diagnosis in any diagnostic classification system. The term, dissocial, says more about the psychopathology behind the personality disorder that leads to -,"

Flynn rolled his eyes and then quickly intervened, "Yeah that might make sense to the shrinks, but Stroh and his associates are still star psychos' in my book."

Mike sighed.

Amy lowered her coffee cup and smiled, "I'd have to agree with Lieutenant Flynn."

Flynn gave her a small, approving smile.

Mike pursed his lips, but then ignored the comment, "I would think it is highly likely that Stroh has someone doing his bidding - or working with him somehow. Helping him delivering the threats maybe."

"It would be the smart thing to do," Amy nodded in agreement, "and free him of showing his face publicly in LA."

All four nodded and after a few silent seconds, Mike turned to Lieutenant Flynn.

"How's the tattoo case going, Andy?" Mike asked.

"Slow," was the monosyllabic, irritated answer.

"How slow?" Amy asked curiously and sipped from her mug.

"Slow enough to give me a headache. I'm trying to see if I can find anyone with an excessive procurement of Rohypnol."

"Rohypnol?" Mike asked, "why?"

Flynn sighed and scratched his chin, "Desmond and Wilton were pumped full of the stuff, and the two victims from March were sedated with the drug as well. Doctor Morales is going back to the victims from December to redo the toxicology test."

Mike hummed, his expression pensive.

Flynn continued in a somber voice, now resting his head in his hand, "The girl, who put up the charges against Wilton and Desmond, said they drugged her. Unfortunately, without any blood samples we can't determine if it was with rohypnol or not. But it's the assumption we're working with."

"That would make sense," Amy nodded.

"Yeah, kill the rapists with the drug they drugged their victim with. Sounds like the MO of a vigilante killer for sure," Flynn shrugged, "Julio is trying to find the girl and get a statement."

Lieutenant Flynn then turned to regard Amy, "You find anything more out about the roses?"

Amy shook her head in the negative, "Not yet, no."

"What about the bouquet the Captain got?"

Amy shook her head, "Provenza's on it."

"Do you think the Captain is Stroh's next target?" Mike asked her.

"Why send a warning to someone before you intend to kill them?" Buzz intervened before Flynn could answer.

"It's a scare tactic, meant to rile us up. The equivalent of giving us the middle finger," Flynn said with a sigh, "I just wish the bastard would say it to my face instead."

Mike gave a small smile, "And then what? Would you shoot him?"

Flynn gave a grin, "Maybe not between the eyes. I was thinking more south of that. Two in his junk; seems fitting, huh."

Amy expelled a small breath, shaking her head with a wry smile, "I'm not sure that would be entirely sanctioned."

Flynn rolled his eyes, "Of course not goody two shoes. I'm going to arrest the bastard if I ever happen to come across him," he paused and continued with a dangerous glint in his eyes, "But if I do meet Stroh, and he so much as twitches, I'm gonna shoot, sanctioned or not. Remember how much it costs us the last time we brought him in alive? That man is a monster – better off dead if I had a choice."

Mike nodded; his expression as grim as Flynn's.

It wasn't that Amy disagreed with the two; she would just like to put Stroh on trial for all his crimes and then sentenced, justice served. It was the right way. Buzz seemed to agree with her judging from the small frown on his brow.

…


	33. Part 32

_What makes courage wither? Part 4_

Late afternoon, Andy found his Captain in the orange hallway. Her stature was rigid as she stood with her arms crossed and stared at a spot on the wall; she had her phone clutched in one hand. The small furrow between her eyebrows had progressively deepened into a frown during the day. Andy had to fight an urge to smooth it out with his thumb. Truth be told, he generally fought the urge to touch her, but today, with the threat of Stroh and a second serial killer running rampant, he felt it even more intensely.

"Hey, there you are," Andy greeted her as he walked towards her, mindful that she was far off. He kept his voice low and shrugged off any annoyance he felt toward the cases.

Sharon turned around to regard him, the frown swiftly dissipating as she laid her face in more neutral tones.

"Hmm?" she hummed, her look turning questioning.

"SID have combed through the State Park and the beach again."

"And?" she prodded.

"Nothing that seems to be of any interest to us and our case," Andy replied with a downturned mouth.

She gave a vague nod and then again she seemed to be staring off into space. She seemed uncharacteristically distracted, not that Andy could blame her. The cases were a lot to juggle and he figured she did not like feeling vulnerable.

"Deputy Wilton should be here in an hour," Sharon told him as she looked at her watch.

"The deputy called you?"

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing, "No. The man circumvented every standard protocol and called the Mayor and Chief Pope. Apparently he doesn't think Major Crimes will be up to par on investigating his son's death. He says, and I quote; major crimes' fixating on the false rape charges against his son instead of using our time to find a vicious killer, is a colossal waste of effort."

Andy gritted his teeth, "So the idiot wanna play it like that, huh?"

Sharon gave him a small smile, "He wants an update, and he's not shy about using his resources. Understandable when your child is dead."

Andy sighed, "Yeah, understandable maybe, but I just had a very depressing conversation with Desmond's parents."

"They called you?" she pursed her mouth.

Andy nodded, "The mother called me. She was pretty upset and wanted a clarification. Wilton told her we found her son murdered in the State Park."

"So," Sharon stated in a low voice she usually reserved for speaking to people who were being obstinate, her eyes narrowing in annoyance, "Deputy Wilton gave the notification to the Desmonds - without clearing it with us? Without understanding it can affect the whole investigation? Not to mention, I'm not sure the deputy is well versed in giving bad news."

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, her exasperation clear.

Andy nodded and once he had eye contact with her again, he spoke "The Desmonds are on their way here as well. They're pretty angry that they had to hear it from Deputy Wilton and not from us."

Sharon sighed, "What a mess."

"Yeah," Andy agreed, his eyes holding hers, "I couldn't lie to Mrs. Desmond and say it wasn't true."

Sharon placed her hand on his shoulder, a soft smile, "It's okay, Andy. It's always hard to keep information to ourselves when other police departments are involved, and especially when grieving parents intervene. We'll figure it out, have a quiet talk with both parties and take it from there."

Andy nodded, "Okay, but meanwhile, I thought we could grab a cup of tea, or something, before they all arrive and it will be chaos come to life."

Sharon gave a tired, miniature nod, and when Andy gestured in the direction of the break room, she set in motion.

"You wanna do the interview with the deputy?" Andy asked her as they walked.

Sharon nodded with a strangely dark smile, "Oh yes. I read up on him and made a few calls around."

"That sounds ominous," Andy commented with a small chuckle, "he got a record?"

"The man has some… spots," she replied vaguely.

Andy was certain 'spots' had to be more in Sharon Raydor's book than simple misunderstandings.

"What do you mean, spots? Freckles?" he teased her.

That brought out a genuine smile. The first smile of the day directed at him that held enough warmth to tingle underneath his skin. He couldn't stop a smile forming on his on lips in return.

She held the break room door open for him and shook her head, the small smile turning rueful, "The deputy appears to have a reputation of letting serious matters slide in his department whenever it is in his favor. It's on public record and their department is being audited at the moment. The local newspaper wrote a chronic about corruption and nepotism a few months back, detailing and highlighting the rape charges against his son and how those were swept under the rug."

"That must not have gone over well?" Andy wagered.

She shook her head, her mouth pursed in half-veiled disgust, "No. Tension seems to run high between the local police and the journalists of the paper; the reason, actually, for the audit. The deputy and some of his subordinates had been conducting illegal raids against the journalists; giving them speeding tickets, signing them up for misdemeanors that never happened and so on."

"Christ," Andy uttered, "that's some spots, huh."

She nodded in agreement.

In the break room they filled the boiler kettle with water and then found teabags and cups. As they waited, Andy tried to not stare too much at her, and he held back asking her about the bouquet of roses again. It must be on her mind for sure; it was on his mind, heavy and fearful, ever since he had seen the bouquet in her arms. It irked him that the day they discovered Rothman murdered, Stroh chose to send Sharon an identical bouquet of roses. Truth be told; it scared the shit out of him.

"You alright?" he ended up asking her, turning his body around to face her fully. Andy knew all about not poking a sleeping dragon, but he needed a bit of reassurance from her. Their conversation this morning had not gone over well, and he just needed her to know he was on her side.

She looked up, her expression more open than earlier, "I'm fine."

Andy arched an eyebrow. Fine was never fine; at least not from what he had learned in the last decades.

She smiled knowingly and corrected herself, "I will be fine."

Andy leaned forward, his expression sincere and concerned, "Anything I can do?"

The smile grew bigger, "You're already doing it, Andy."

"Oh," he smiled back, feeling inexplicably happy, "well, in that case."

She shook her head, "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," he grinned.

"Hmm," she hummed, and then with a smile she teased, "Yes, I think your head have gotten bigger."

Andy let the comment slide and instead he grinned mischievously with a shrug and playful look, making her words seem like an innuendo and making her well aware of it.

Her smile stayed on and the way she briefly looked away from him, the small tell of a blush on her cheeks, made him smile more. What were the odds, that of all people, she could turn his whole day around with a simple smile?

"I'm sorry about this morning," she said, giving him a small hesitant look, her fingers fiddling with a teabag.

"Hey," he took a step closer and latched onto her hand, her slender fingers intertwining in his, "Nothing to apologize about. I was being an ass."

He hung unto her fingers, his thumb circling a small caress on her knuckles.

She smiled.

In any other setting, Andy would have kissed her. Full on the mouth, both hands on the sides of her head. In a way it was fortunate they were at the office; he had promised himself that he would let her set the pace of their relationship even if it meant she set it at a snail's pace. And despite the two steps forward and the three steps back, he treasured spending time with her, no matter what that time consisted of. But that did not mean he could not think about it though, the quick, small kisses they had shared a month back and the exultant emotions he had felt, replaying in his mind.

Andy smiled back at her.

…


	34. Part 33

_What makes courage wither? Part 5_

"For crying out loud," Provenza groaned when he rounded the corner and had a clear view of the break room and the two lovebirds in there; he stopped short and put a hand against his temple, shaking his head. Those two would surely be the death of him.

"What's that, sir?" Amy Sykes asked him with a quizzical look as she came up to stand beside him, her demeanor chipper.

"Nothing, nothing at all," Provenza sighed audibly and then with a dismissive hand wave he gestured for the girl to move on. He narrowed his eyes on the god-awful spectacle that was on full display inside the break room. Of all places for those two idiots to be smiling head over heels at each other, why did it have to be the break room when he was in dire need of caffeine?

"Are you sure?" Sykes asked.

Provenza sighed and gave the girl a look, "Ye-es, Sykes, now -,"

"You look a little pale, sir," the girl stood her ground as she interrupted him. Provenza glared at her, finding the small smile at the corner of her mouth slightly aggravating.

"It's just old age," he countered back, effectively closing any further attempts at a conversation.

Sykes shrugged and moved on. She didn't seem to see anything out of the ordinary in the break room and strode into the room with a quick gait, cheerfully greeting both Flynn and the Captain with a big, wide smile. She headed straight for the coffee machine and started pouring coffee into a cup in her hands. That girl was either oblivious or intentionally pretending nothing unusual was happening. Or, like everyone else, she was trying his patience, Provenza reflected with a sigh.

Inside the break room, the Captain and Flynn quickly stepped away from each other at the intrusion, their greeting smiles to Sykes appearing more awkward than anything else. At least the Captain seemed to have enough work-ethic awareness to blush a bit embarrassed.

Provenza could only shake his head at their antics. He sidled into the room behind Sykes in a more slow tempo, his eyes meeting Flynn's first; they exchanged a brief glare, the 'what' written on his partner's dumb face enough to make Provenza grind his teeth. The Captain turned her attention to him and graced him with a warm, serene smile. Her demeanor was vastly different from earlier in the day, the worry lines gone. Provenza found himself smiling back at her before he knew it, her smile contagious.

If Flynn actually managed to make the Captain smile and take her mind off serial killers and threats, well, then Provenza really could not complain about their goo-goo gazing, now could he? He liked the woman enough to want to see her worry-free and he had months prior somewhat begrudgingly accepted that his friend was in love big time.

Provenza found a cup for himself and then poured the rest of the coffee into it, smiling when he caught Flynn giving him a look. The idiot would just have to make a new pot himself.

"Ah we really should invest in a new machine," Sykes chatted between coffee sips, her tone just a tad too chipper for Provenza.

Provenza leaned back against the counter and then stared at the girl. He saw the knowing glance she threw in the direction of the Captain and Flynn, the smile on her lips telling. Maybe the girl was more aware of the situation than Provenza had first assumed.

"Coop says they just got new machines downstairs," Sykes continued.

Provenza snorted when he caught the Captain smiling into her tea cup, obviously hiding her reaction.

"I think our coffee machine merely needs a descaling," she said when she looked up again, her eyes on Sykes.

Sykes hummed, her eyes going to the machine with an unconvinced look.

The matter of it was; no one wanted to be the one in charge of actually descaling the old thing. No, they had all, bar Flynn naturally, agreed to simply silently wait it out. At one point or other, Flynn would lose his patience and end up descaling the thing. It had worked magnificently for the last ten years.

But that did not mean, Provenza could not complain about the state of the thing or point out they needed a new one. Especially when Sykes was the one to point it out first.

"Or _someone_," Provenza smiled cattily, his eyes going to the Captain, "could talk to Taylor about finding money for an espresso machine, hmm? I'm sure _someone_ could make the argument that it would increase 'morale' and 'reduce time spent brewing'."

The Captain raised an eyebrow, her mouth pursing, "And when you say someone, I presume you mean me?"

"Would you be so kind?" Provenza replied with an eager nod, barely keeping the smile out of his voice.

Flynn chuckled, his eyes crinkled as he gave Provenza a knowing look. He then turned to the Captain with a bright smile, "I'm sure you can work it in in the next budget meeting, huh?"

The Captain gave both of them a narrowed look. "Have either of you," she started, her voice sounding condescending, "ever been to a budget meeting in your long, long careers within the force?"

Provenza simply yawned in response. He watched Flynn shrug with a big carefree smile. It was nice to once in a while gang up on the boss; all in good fun of course.

"I thought not," she said with punctuation as she crossed her arms.

"What? – don't you just sit around eating fancy lunch and decide who's pissed you most off in the preceding month?" Flynn asked, voice mock-serious.

Provenza shared a smile with his partner and easily joined in, "Yeah, I thought 'budget meetings' was a fancy way of taking time off."

The Captain rolled her eyes, but Provenza could see her amusement. Sykes was smiling into her cup as well, her eyes curiously on the Captain.

"You would do well to remember who signs your evaluation reports," the Captain countered, her head tilted and her smile devilish. Sometimes Provenza could understand why his partner had fallen for her; she was always quick to give back.

Flynn chuckled, "Oh, don't worry. We remember."

Provenza smiled, "Yeah. How could we forget?"

She shook her head, smile still on.

Some days it was nice to joke around a bit, and let everything else disappear into the background for a while.

"You know what, lieutenant," the Captain started, her eyes on him with a calculating look.

Provenza shrugged.

"I think you should join me for the interview with Deputy Wilton."

Provenza groaned and when he heard Flynn chuckle he leveled his dark look to his partner.

Before Provenza could say anything, Doctor Morales stuck his head into the break room and proclaimed, "There you all are."

They all looked at the doctor and he continued as if they were all just waiting for his report, "In conference with another medical examiner, I have been looking through our records. I think I might have found something of interest."

Morales waved a brown folder in the air before he continued, "A guy in his late twenties, died from a supposed overdose last year late August. The death was ruled as an accidental drug overdose but the medical examiner described a peculiar tattoo on his wrist."

Provenza turned his full attention to the doctor.

"Is it our first victim?" the Captain asked, her tone sounding excited.

"The tattoo said guilty," Morales nodded with a broad smile, "and the toxicology report showed a significant amount of benzodiazepines in the blood. So I'd say we're in luck."

Bingo, Provenza thought.

…


	35. Part 34

_What makes courage wither? Part 6_

Rusty covered a yawn with his hand as he waited for Sharon in her office. He was lounging on her green sofa with a cushion behind him and his feet up on the couch, his shoes along with his backpack lay discarded haphazardly on the floor.

His book on physics, volume one, was opened on page 171 on his lap, but Rusty found it hard to concentrate on thermodynamics. Instead he sent off a text to Jeremy. They had decided to go on a real date instead of pretending it was simply a study group session. Rusty was of half a mind to ask Sharon if she thought it a good idea to take Jeremy to the beach for an ice cream. He smiled to himself; he could always ask her where she wanted Lieutenant Flynn to take her; that was a sure way to freak her out a little. He could just imagine the blushing that would commence and the frantic denying of them dating. Not that he was going to tease her today; she had enough on her plate for a lifetime.

Coming into the LAPD building, Rusty had found the squad room completely empty and he had stuck his head into electronics to enquire about Sharon's whereabouts. Buzz had put a finger to his mouth and then with a hand to Rusty's shoulder, had herded him out of the room, whispering about sensitive material before the door into electronics was closed again.

The whole day had felt somewhat surreal to him; his thoughts wandered back to that bouquet of roses he had discovered last night, the note from Stroh in among the petals, disturbed him. Attending classes and talking to his class mates had not felt normal enough or made him relax.

To say he was a little freaked out would be an understatement. He felt concerned, and not only for his own safety; he worried about Sharon. She would most likely tell him it was for the parent to worry, but that did not allay his fears. So needing to see for himself that Sharon was fine, he decided to surprise her at work and offer to drive her home. The plan was to stop by their favorite sushi place for dinner; he hoped she didn't have to work late.

After half an hour, he heard voices coming from the squad room. Looking up he saw Sharon make her way across the room accompanied by a tall man in a sheriff's uniform. Flynn and Provenza were behind them. The man was talking loudly, his head held high and his movements rigid. Rusty could not discern what he was saying but he looked angry; not that it seemed to bother Sharon at all. After some exchanging, the man finally went away scowling. Provenza waved at the man's retreating back and Rusty had a hard time keeping a smile from his lips. Sharon looked to her office and when she noticed Rusty there, her eyes crinkled happily and her mouth instantly turned upwards in a smile as she waved in his direction.

Rusty watched her exchange a few more words with the two lieutenants, both men nodding. Provenza even made a funny grimace and waved at Rusty before he sauntered off to his own desk, shuffling papers around. Flynn seemed to hesitate, his body turned to Sharon, but after a brief moment he went to his desk as well.

"Hi honey," Sharon greeted him when she came through into the office, closing the door behind her.

Rusty stood up and greeted her with a smile, "Hey."

"Who was the angry man?" Rusty asked, curious.

Sharon shrugged, "A parent to one of our victims."

Rusty nodded and then stepped into her embrace and after the little hum she emitted at the contact, he divulged her in his plan, "I thought I would drive us home and that we could stop for dinner on the way? Sushi?"

She tightened her grip around him and then let go, "That sounds delicious."

Rusty nodded eagerly and felt some tension ease off; he hadn't realized his shoulders were so far up. Also he was more than slightly hungry.

"Let me just finish up here," Sharon pointed at the array of papers and folders on her desk, "it won't take long."

"Sure," Rusty said with a smile. He sat down on the sofa again well knowing that wrapping up could take all from five minutes to half an hour. So in anticipation, he opened his book again, his finger on the paragraph that he last read. He needed to read it again and felt more able to focus now.

Twenty minutes later had them making their way out of the building. The sun was low on the horizon, reflected in the tallest buildings but otherwise obscured. Rusty was carrying Sharon's briefcase and trench coat while she talked on the phone. He listened with half an ear to the conversation; Sharon's tone was somber and low, 'yes, chief' was uttered more than once. When she finally hung up, she expelled a small breath of air, reminiscent of a sigh and then rolled her eyes when Rusty gave her an enquiring look.

"How's the case going?" Rusty asked as he unlocked the trunk of the car, trying to make it sound like he was only mildly curious. He put all of their stuff in the trunk.

Sharon looked thoughtful for a small moment and then hummed before she answered, "I think we might have found some clues to lead us in the right direction. We know more about our victims and how they came to be targets now. But there's still some way to go though."

Rusty nodded; he was more interested in what they had found out about Stroh and his continuing threats. He waited until they were both in the car before he asked her.

"Anything about Stroh?" he tried to sound casual.

Sharon pursed her lips and shook her head slightly, "There's nothing new."

Rusty sighed along with Sharon.

The rest of the ride home was silent with the exception of the stop they made at the sushi restaurant. Rusty glanced at Sharon every now and then, half of a mind to ask her to elaborate on what "nothing new" meant. However with the bag of sushi in her lap, her fingers laced together and her head leaned back against the headrest, she looked almost peaceful with her eyes closed and Rusty decided to let her be.

Of all things he wanted in the world, he wanted her to be happy. It was so forceful that sometimes it felt as if he was on the brink of crying when he thought about it.

Sharon woke up when Rusty drove down into the underground parking garage of their condominium. Rusty caught her looking sideways, a drowsy half-lidded look accompanied by a telling smile.

Rusty parked the car, and he was just about to take the key out of the ignition when Sharon covered his hand with hers.

"What?" Rusty looked up at her, wondering.

Her whole demeanor had changed to one of alertness. She was staring out of the window, her eyes narrowed into a wondering and guarded frown. Her eyes darted around from car to pillar to car.

Rusty looked out of the window shield in the direction she was looking. At first he was clueless; the row of parked cars did not present anything new. Then she spoke, her tone low but clear, her eyes on a lone figure making their way through the garage, "I need you to call Lieutenant Provenza and have him send backup."

She gave him a brief look as she put her phone in his hands. Rusty looked out at the lone figure again, not really comprehending what was happening as Sharon unbuckled her seat belt and quietly opened the door on her side.

It was only when Rusty noticed her checking the gun at her hip that a knot of dread started forming in his throat, spreading tendrils up and downwards, his stomach roiling in fear and adrenaline.

The figure, looming tall, walked in a slow, but sure stride toward the door at the end of the parking garage. There was a bouquet of roses in his arms. The roses were red, Rusty noticed. The man had a baseball cap on his head; the shadow pulled down so it obscured his face, leaving only a dark beard visible.

The man disappeared from view as he walked behind a concrete column.

"Sharon?" Rusty croaked as he turned his head to implore her not to go.

She was already out of the car and she pointed at him, "Whatever happens, you stay in the car -,"

"- but," Rusty quickly interrupted her as he unbuckled his own seat belt, wanting to help her somehow.

He stopped short when Sharon pointed angrily at him, "So help me, you stay in the car and you lock it," she hissed in a low tone that surprised him.

"Do you understand?" she asked more softly, her eyes on him and Rusty quickly nodded, "now call Provenza."

Rusty followed her movements, his thoughts chaotic. He locked the car, even if it felt like he was somehow abandoning Sharon. His hands shook as he tried to find Lieutenant Provenza's number in her contacts. The time it took for him to find the number and before he hit the dial, Sharon was gaining in on the tall man.

From the distance, the tall posture and the gait could be that of Stroh, or at least in Rusty's mind the resemblance to the serial killer was striking.

The man was nearing the garage door that led to the stairs and the elevators, Sharon was just behind him.

Rusty swallowed back a lump. He felt it took an eternity for Provenza to answer his damn phone.

"Please don't say we have a new case," Provenza finally answered his phone, his voice gruff as if he had been sleeping.

"No, it's me – Rusty," Rusty rushed, dread stuck in his throat as he watched Sharon approaching the man.

Sharon now had the man's attention. She must have said something because he turned around. They looked to be exchanging polite words, but whereas Sharon seemed to play it off casually, the man looked cautious and he took a step backwards.

Rusty squinted and moved closer to the front shield to get a better view.

The man took a step towards Sharon. Sharon's hand hovered near her holster and her gun, her back turned to Rusty so he couldn't see her expression.

"Rusty? What's wrong?" Provenza now sounded much more alert and interrupted Rusty's staring.

"I need backup," Rusty hurriedly spoke, "It's Sharon – I mean, there's this guy with roses and she said to call for back-up. She's approaching him."

Sharon reached for her gun, but the stranger lunged for her at the same time; the roses fell to the ground in a heap. She had managed to get her gun out, but the stranger deflected her aim with a backhand swipe of his hand; the gun boomed in the garage but the shot missed. Rusty cried out in fear watching the big man ram into Sharon, tackling her to the ground.

Rusty thought the shot might have hit one of the nearby cars. He ducked down in his seat at the sound, his mouth tasting like bile. He swallowed his fear, "shit – you have to hurry, lieutenant – he's attacking Sharon, he's – you have to hurry!" Rusty urged.

"Where are you?" Provenza asked, his voice not gruff anymore.

"The parking garage – at home. I'm locked in the car."

"You stay in the car – okay, Rusty? You hear me, kid? You stay in the car and you keep it locked!"

Rusty nodded and then cleared his throat, "Yes, just hurry, lieutenant. I'm not sure what is happening, and I think Sharon just lost her gun."

"Alright, now I'm going to call back-up so I'm hanging up, okay?"

Rusty nodded but before he could say anything the line clicked shut.

Rusty chanced a look out of the front shield window, lifting his head an inch.

The two were no longer in a tangle; Sharon had managed to gain some distance between them, but her gun was not in her hands. The man was holding his nose, blood streaming down his beard and between his fingers, the baseball cap on the floor. It was not Stroh; that much Rusty could see now. Sharon must have punched the guy – judging from the awkward step the man took, she had gotten in a kick to his leg as well.

Rusty let out a small breath. Sometimes he forgot Sharon was a police officer and could defend herself.

The man started approaching Sharon again, his mouth moving. Sharon shook her head and pointed at the man, her voice loud enough for Rusty to hear it though not what she said as it echoed in the garage.

Rusty franticly looked for Sharon's gun and saw it was lying on the concrete near a column a good two meters away. Sharon chanced a look behind her to spot her gun, however the guy took that opportunity to lunge for Sharon again.

Rusty ducked his head down again, holding his breath, adrenaline and dread pumping in equal measures. It made his stomach roil in much the same way when he looked out over a too tall building.

When he looked up again, the man had Sharon pressed against a column; one hand wrapped around her throat and he was pushing her head back against the concrete. She was immobilized.

Rusty made a move towards the lock on the car door but just as he unlocked the door, Sharon's phone rang in his sweaty palm. It made him jump in fright.

"Yeah?" Rusty quickly answered, his voice sounding foreign and shaky.

"Hey," came Provenza's voice over the phone, "listen, Sanchez's the closest and he is maybe two minutes out, okay? So you just stay tight, help is on the way!"

"Okay," Rusty croaked and slunk back into his seat.

Provenza said something else, but Rusty didn't pay attention, his eyes went back to the man and Sharon when he heard the second shot ring out.

…


	36. Part 35

_What makes courage wither? Part 7_

Nothing could ever have prepared Andy for the phone call he received from Provenza. It woke him from a slumber on his couch in front of the TV. The phone had buzzed and as he saw the caller ID, he had been ready to tell his partner that short of a body, he was most definitely not going anywhere. However the hurried and panicked tone of Provenza had stopped him short, and had duly woken him up, his heart leapt into his throat when Provenza told him of Rusty and Sharon needing back-up.

Terror was a peculiar thing.

Sometimes terror froze you in place, and sometimes, like this night, terror struck Andy solid in the chest like a continuous lightning strike, increasing over time into an even higher voltage. It left him a buzzing sense of dread and blocked out most conscious thoughts. He could only focus on getting to Sharon.

In hindsight, Andy's alert level had been somewhat elevated since early morning at the discovery of Sharon receiving another bouquet of roses. But somehow or other, Andy had been able to bury the emotion; it had felt safe enough. So he had gone home without thinking too much on the danger the bouquet should have posed.

Fuck.

Andy was up and out of bed before Provenza was finished talking, hopping around on one foot as he franticly pulled on a pair of jeans and threw a t-shirt over his tank top. He clipped on badge and gun, the weight felt familiar and comforting. He had the phone pressed against his ear with a raised shoulder as he spoke with Provenza. Patrol and Sanchez were already notified and likely already on their way to the scene.

Andy stretched his neck after Provenza hung up. He cursed as he lost precious seconds looking for his car keys. He leaned in to look at the basket he usually kept small knickknacks in, and unwittingly stubbed his toe against the granite of the table island in his kitchen. He grimaced and blew out an exasperated curse, but he found the keys and ran out of the apartment. Fear dug into him with cold clammy claws as he ran to his car and set it in motion.

Shit.

The car sped down the otherwise quiet street, the dark night lit up by the portable siren blazing on top. Andy winced at the screeching of tires when he turned a corner. He only slowed down in intersections and sharp corners, mindful only of not getting into a delaying accident. He drove well above the speed limit, yet it did not really register with him. His emotions were boiling; there was only the goal of reaching Sharon's place.

He thought about what Provenza had told him over the phone. Of course, Sharon had to confront a stranger carrying roses in her garage. Why couldn't she have called for fucking back-up first? It would have eased both Andy's racing heart and the unbridled latent worry that this was really gonna do it to his high blood pressure.

Fuck.

Andy tried hard not to think of what would meet him at the scene; she was fine, she would be fine. She knew how to defend herself; she was not a rookie, or worse, a civilian. He knew Sharon threw a mean punch. She had to be fine. Anything but not fine only made his throat tighten up and the inside of his mouth dry up. The longer he thought about Sharon in danger, the more compressed his chest felt. He pushed down harder on the speeder.

Arriving at Sharon's condominium, he saw two cruisers were already parked at the entrance to the underground parking garage; their blue and red lights flashing ominously. Andy parked his car next to one of them and then flashed his badge at one of the uniforms, and hurried past them when they waved him on.

The first thing he noticed in the parking garage was Julio Sanchez's Charger and it brought a momentary relief. If Julio was here, then everything would be under control and she would be fine. The lights from the cruisers made their way into the garage and gave the scene an eerily spooky light. It felt far removed from reality.

Andy hurriedly made his way to a group of people that stood in a huddle near the back. He easily recognized the figure of Sharon in the midst.

Just seeing her and he could breathe again.

If she could stand and talk, then she had to be unharmed. Andy tried his hardest not to run, but he ended up trotting as dormant fear made him go faster. Even though she was breathing and alive, he needed to be closer to truly understand it. The dreading sense of terror was slowly ebbing out, he could still taste fear in the back of his throat, a bitter and stale flavor. To say his emotions were all over the place was not an understatement

On his way to the group, Andy bypassed Julio and a uniform with their hands around the upper arms of tall man. The man was towering concrete; the muscles of his upper arms well defined and bulging even in the handcuffs they had him in, he had a sharp face that seemed to have been shaped from stone. Andy narrowed his eyes and glared into the man's eyes as he passed the trio by. The man stared back, eyes devoid of much emotion. The man's face was unreadable but for the slight crooked smile that lifted the corner of his mouth. A morbid smile. It was as if the man could sense Andy's underlying fear and anger. His nose was crooked with blood still gushing fresh. It did not seem to bother him much.

Andy narrowed his eyes even further, his hands fisting by his side. The creep smiled more. Andy ignored it and stopped just behind them. He caught Julio's gaze.

"This is the moron?"

Sanchez nodded grimly, "Yeah, the Captain got him good," his voice dripped with barely contained anger.

Andy smiled and then in a dark, low voice, he added, "Make him comfortable, won't you."

Julio smiled back in the same fashion, "I will, right after the doc's looked at him. Mr. Hunt here is going to booking for an overnight stay."

Andy nodded. Julio prodded the handcuffed man to walk again.

Andy watched as Julio put the creep into the backseat of one of the cruisers. Julio stayed by the cruiser, keeping an eye on the arrested man. Andy considered briefly whether or not he should have a little talk with the creep before he went into booking; just to make sure the man understood the serious matter of attacking police captains. For the moment though, Andy moved on, his jaw clenched together in part anger, part fear. He had to see her first, and then he would decide.

Sharon stood close to a concrete column, one hand uncharacteristicly braced on Provenza's shoulder for support. Rusty hovered uncertain behind her. Sergeant Stapples stood in front of her with one of Sharon's former lieutenants. Elmer or Elliott, or something like that, Andy thought. Stapples' back was to Andy, the stocky F.I.D. man looking at a notebook in his hands.

From afar, it all looked normal; Stapples was getting a statement as procedure would see it. Sharon must have fired her gun, Andy rationalized. Though the creep did not appear to have been shot as there was no EMTs present and Julio could walk him quietly to the cruiser.

Close up, however, it was a different scenario; Rusty was pale and ashen, but Sharon looked worse. The skin beneath her left eye was swollen and red, the markings of a bruise to come. Something shifted in her expression when Andy came within view, her eyes widened slightly and her mouth parted before she closed it and turned her attention back to Stapples. Andy sighed, well knowing he could not touch her even if that was the only thing he wanted to do.

Andy had received a couple of bruises in his day; she would need an ice pack to counter the swelling of her eye. Andy wondered if he should get her one immediately, but there were still the photographs, he assumed. She would need to have every injury documented first before she could put on an ice pack.

Andy let his gaze go up and down the length of her body as he made a quick assessment of any other injuries she had acquired. The cloth of her pants were teared at knee length and darkened by small spots of blood, and the visible skin looked raw and abrased. What held his attention more was the way she fiddled with her hands, somewhat nervously. It was not a very obvious thing but he caught onto it straight away. Her knuckles looked torn up, and with abrasions as well. That would need to be cleaned out, Andy thought. And an ice pack would do her good here as well. He hoped she hadn't broken anything.

"- so, then Mr. Hunt attacked you?" Stapples asked, the question sounded condescending, but once Andy saw the man's expression, he knew the sergeant was as troubled by the situation as everyone else. He breathed out relieved, the last thing they needed was F.I.D. throwing their weight around.

"Of course the moron attacked her, Stapples," Provenza blew out before Sharon could answer. Provenza's tone was impatient and frustrated, but the way he put a hand on Sharon's elbow was gentle, his eyes narrowed into a glare at both Stapples and Elmer. Provenza would likely never admit to it, but Andy knew Sharon had a big place in the old man's heart.

"So, what's the deal?" Andy interrupted once he made it to the little group, saving Provenza from the frown that was forming on Sharon's face. She had no doubt been about to reprimand him.

Andy gave Sharon a small smile, his eyes on the red skin at her eye. He joked and pointed with a nod, "That's quite the shiner you're working on there, Captain."

Sharon turned her head, acknowledging Andy's presence with a lifted eyebrow and a small upturn of her mouth. The gesture, however, seemed to pain her judging from the compressed mouth and the small hiss she emitted.

The right side of her lower chin was grazed as well, Andy noted, small pebbles of blood drying up.

"You should see the other guy," Sharon joked back, her eyes momentarily on Andy with a small glint.

Andy smiled wider and he felt the heavy weight in his chest lifting completely. Goddamn, but he felt like kissing her. He almost didn't care about everyone else witnessing it. Her manner eased up his fear and untied the knot in his stomach.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught the roses that lay in a heap on the concrete ground, petals strewn across the ground and some stems broken in half. He tilted his head at the fallen roses, "Don't care much for roses, huh?"

Sharon hid her smile well, but he caught the small curving of her mouth. Provenza on the other hand, directed his glare at Andy.

Andy shrugged; he would rather make her smile and laugh than work his temper up. The situation was handled and now it was just the aftermath. That he could deal with.

"Can we return to what happened right after you confronted Mr. Hunt?" Sergeant Stapples interrupted the conversation, his eyes on Andy with curiosity.

Sharon looked back at Stapples, the glint of small mischief gone and replaced with a determined stare as she gave the rest of her statement. Her voice was neutral and in control, although she was still fiddling with her hands. Rusty intervened every now and then in her statement, repeating what he had seen from the car. The kid was glaring at the sergeant as well.

Andy sighed.

Sam Hunt was the name of the creep, or so the driver's license on the man showed. He must have been the one to deliver all the roses. Andy wondered if he was yet another one of Stroh's accomplices who had fallen victim to the lawyer's sleek manipulating.

If only it had been Stroh delivering the roses, that would have made everything easier. The only upside to the whole thing was that Hunt had to know something about the whereabouts of Philip Stroh. Julio went back to headquarters with patrol holding the creep. They would first document the broken nose on the man and any other injuries he might have gotten. Then they would let Hunt stew the night over in booking and question him in the morning.

Rusty seemed to pull in on himself during the interview of Sharon, he kept his eyes on her exclusively. The kid was shaking and cold when Andy put his hand on his shoulder. Andy kept his hand there for a moment and while squeezing, he leaned down and whispered, "You did good kid. Breathe, okay. It's over. She's okay now."

Rusty nodded but it seemed somewhat trancelike.

In the end, Stapples had his statements and Provenza secured two uniforms to watch Sharon's apartment during the night. Provenza went with Sharon back to headquarters where Doctor Morales waited to document and treat them her injuries. Andy took it upon himself to look after Rusty. The kid looked lost, his eyes following Sharon as she went with Provenza.

Andy guided the kid upstairs and put his hand on his shoulder again.

"C'mon, let's go make some tea."

Rusty nodded, but kept his head turned and his eyes on Sharon's retreating form, until they entered the elevator.

Once inside Sharon's apartment, Andy pulled a throw around Rusty and told the kid to sit down on the sofa. He then made the kid a large cup of tea and hoped the warm liquid would soothe some of Rusty's worries away.

"Thank you," Rusty said absentmindedly, staring at the warm cup in his hands.

"No worries," Andy said and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, his own cup of tea between his palms. He felt the warmth from it consolidating into quiet comfort.

The tea was one of Sharon's favorite blends; she even brought it with her into the office sometimes. Andy liked the scent of it more than he liked the taste. It reminded him of her in a strange way; reminded him of late nights at the office with the whole team working and Sharon either situated in her office, open doors and blinds, or standing out in the murder room observing the board.

"You alright?" Andy asked when Rusty had been quiet for a whole quarter of an hour.

The kid nodded unconvincingly.

"Just," Rusty sighed and turned around to regard Andy, "I should have done something."

"You called for back-up," Andy said, "You did what Sharon wanted you to do."

Rusty shrugged, "I just feel - I mean, I just feel like I could have done more."

"You did enough."

"I sat in the car, Lieutenant Flynn," Rusty snapped, his expression troubled, "I did nothing. I just watched, she could have died!"

"You called Provenza and you stayed in the car, so Sharon knew you would be safe. That's more than enough."

The kid looked down; he did not look entirely convinced.

"Hey," Andy said, his voice low and soft. He waited till Rusty looked up and when he had his eyes, he continued, "You did great."

"You think?"

Andy nodded, "I sure do."

"Oh, okay," Rusty let out in a breath.

"Anything else?" Andy pried. The kid still looked miserable.

Rusty shrugged.

"Rusty," Andy said with a small smile, "Sharon will be the first to say she's proud of you. You did great, okay, she will be fine, you did good."

The kid nodded, relief more visible in his expression, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Are you staying for the night, Lieutenant Flynn?"

"Yeah," he replied and took a sip from the cup, scolding his tongue and making him hiss in pain. That got a small smile out of the kid and Andy smiled back.

Andy settled into the couch and closed his eyes briefly; the calm that came after feeling terror had a peculiar lively aftertaste.

…


	37. Part 36

**28th April 2015**

**Tuesday**

**Los Angeles**

…

_What makes time stand still? Part 1_

The whole apartment was lit up by every lamp with a light switch, making shadows retreat to nooks and crannies, and yet, despite the warm glow of her lamps, the darkness was intruding. It was not even that dark outside; street lamps, the light from the neighbors, and the overall orange glare that permeated the night of the city, all made the night sky a little less dark. It was not pitch black. Yet it did not lift much of her unease, even if she knew it ought to.

Her eyes went to the night sky and the outlines of clouds in the horizon. She longed for daylight and the bright, warm stare of the sun baking down and banishing any dark thoughts that had a predilection for growing in the night. She would be in more control of herself in daylight. At well past midnight, there was time and space for ruminations and small uncertainties to fester.

Sharon lingered for a small moment outside Rusty's room, her mind focusing on breathing slow and steady. There was still a small knot of tension in her chest. It had been much more pronounced earlier on, and even if it was subsiding ever so slowly, it was there, aching.

She had taken extra time to say goodnight to Rusty; she had a feeling they both felt a little out of sorts, and she had calmed herself down by sitting on his bed and brushing his hair. Rusty lay curled up in blankets and looked back at her. It was one of those times where he had the look of a small boy, and it only made her knot ache all the more. He was trying to find some semblance of peace within himself and with the experience they just had. She had kissed his temple and he had said 'love you', his eyes big and wide. She had kissed his temple again, and reassured him she was more than fine and that she loved him. She had left his room with the promise that if he could not sleep, then he could come wake her up.

The shock of it all was slowly dawning on her, Sharon realized. Down in the parking garage she had been so affected by adrenalin, she felt far removed from the whole incident, so much that she had barely felt the small scrapes and bruises. Now that peace and quiet had replaced buzzing activity, she was starting to feel the aftermath of it all. Her hands were cold and numb, and soon the rest of her body followed. The skin around her left eye throbbed, and her knees smarted when she moved. The whole length of the left side of her body was making its pain known as well. She had fallen onto the concrete ground, and she was sure, come morning, there would be a large area of bruised skin.

She was standing in a soft cotton pajamas top and yoga slacks, socks on her feet, and yet, despite the warmth of the day, she felt cold. Sharon moved into the living room.

Andy was tinkering in the kitchen, the quiet sounds felt comforting to her. He had kept Rusty company while she had gone to headquarters to get her injuries documented. Morales had checked her out, the doctor was more gentle and quiet than she had ever witnessed him. Truth be told, Sharon felt more at ease in Andy's presence, even knowing that outside her apartment, two uniforms were stationed for the night. She did not feel at ease because of the safety he provided, but more out of the need to be near him and the solid comfort he represented.

When Sharon hesitantly rounded the corner to the kitchen, Andy was standing with his back to her and had the water kettle in his hands. He was taller than she remembered. She stood still and silent for a short moment, watching him, unsure of herself and their relationship. She felt very vulnerable in only her sleep attire; she didn't even have shoes on.

Andy turned around, and a smile quickly lit up his face when he saw her.

"Hey," he greeted with a soft voice.

"Hey," she said back, taking a step towards the counter. She leaned her elbows on the counter top, her fingers laced together to stop them from betraying her.

"Rusty asleep?"

She hummed, her smile brief and without much warmth.

"I am making some tea," Andy offered with a questioning gaze, "I mean, if you feel like tea?"

"That sounds nice," she replied.

What she really wanted, however, was for him to stay the night. She was trying to find the courage to ask him. It was just at the tip of her tongue and yet, just thinking about asking him, filled her with uncertainty.

"You alright, Sharon?" he asked, this time taking a step closer to her, "You look a bit pale."

She shrugged and gently touched the puffy, strained skin beneath her swollen eye, "I'm just a little sore," she paused, and then exhaled, "I will manage."

That earned her a dry chuckle.

"If only I had been a little faster," she half-joked.

"Julio said the moron was complaining about you kicking him in the groin," Andy smiled, "You got him good and square."

She shrugged noncommittally.

"Hey, you're alive," Andy pointedly said, his hand squeezing her shoulder to get her attention, "and you've got your head on straight, isn't that what Morales said? No head injuries? No concussion?"

"Mmhmm," she nodded, "I am fine." She paused and inhaled a deep breath, and then she sighed, "It's just," she stopped and shook her head, feeling a bit annoyed with herself. Another deep breath and then she expelled, "I just keep replaying it over and over. I should have stayed in the car with Rusty and called back-up. We would still have had time to surprise him."

Andy shook his head, "He would only have been there a few minutes, not enough time for back-up to arrive. You made the right call, Sharon," he said.

"Doesn't really feel like it."

"That's because Stroh is still out there, and he's messing with your head. He's messing with all of us."

She nodded and let out a small agreeing hum, but otherwise staying silent, her eyes followed Andy's movements as he took out cups from her cabinets and made his own teabags with a caffeine-free blend.

She let out a breath, still feeling obnoxiously nervous.

Andy pushed a cup over to her on the counter, his eyes searching hers.

She wrapped all her fingers around the cup and looked into the water that was beginning to take on color, enjoying the warmth of the boiling water. It heated her cold fingers and she felt her nerves calming gradually.

Andy was already sipping his own tea, and judging from his grimace, he had burned his tongue. He always started drinking his tea and coffee too fast; she knew the grimace quite well now. She felt like she was waiting for the right moment to ask, but it would never come. She knew that. She might as well get it over with.

"Will you stay?" she asked, looking away as she asked the question. She felt embarrassed to even have to ask in the first place. She had done just fine without a man for most of her adult life.

She swallowed uncertainly and felt her throat closing up.

She heard the rustle of clothes and looked up, surprised to find Andy in front of her. He reached out and gently touched her chin, tilting her head up. His eyes were soft and there was something in his look that calmed her.

"Of course," he said matter of fact.

She tried to smile but her mouth trembled more than it smiled and she felt her tear ducts on the verge of breaking.

His thumb moved up along her cheek, still so careful in his touch, "I'm not going anywhere."

She breathed out a sigh of relief, he was so close and his scent was slightly intoxicating.

"I have a few extra blankets," she said, looking back over her shoulder at the sofa, "The sofa is not that comfortable but,-"

He interrupted her and smiled, "I'm sure it's fine."

She glanced up, searchingly in her gaze, aware that he was still caressing her cheek.

"Thank you," she said, this time able to return a smile.

Andy leaned forward and carefully kissed her temple, and then he opened his arms and she willingly fell into his embrace, taking comfort in the warmth of his body.

"You cold?" he asked, his voice muffled by her hair, she felt more than heard him breathe in through his nose.

She hummed, her cheek pressed against his chest and her arms tightening around his middle. She could hear his heartbeat. This intimacy between them, it was so very new. It rushed through her and left a molten feeling in her stomach.

They stood still in the embrace for a long moment. Breathing slowly, she felt chip after chip breaking away from the knot in her chest. It was as if the embrace was the only thing keeping her from floating up and away.

"You want me to tuck you in?" Andy asked her, breaking the silence. His voice was full of humor and warmth.

She smiled and looked up, seeing only the slight stubble on his chin, "I'm a little too old for that, don't you think?"

"Nah," he shook his head with a smug expression.

She hummed and then countered, "Are you going to tell me goodnight stories too? Hmm? Sing for me?"

He chuckled, "Sure, Nicole's boys love my nighttime stories."

She pursed her lips to keep from smiling too much at the image.

There was that damnable situation again; the in-between friendship and something more; that thing beyond the line, that feeling that made it hard not to move forward. She wanted to cross the line; she had known it for a while now, and even if she was not ready for a cliff dive, she wanted to take just a few steps forward.

Andy must have read her expression because he met her halfway, his lips soft on her hers as they shared a kiss in the kitchen. Their first kisses previously shared between them, had been almost timid and shy, innocent and soft, and yet they had left an impression under Sharon's skin; a blazing, aching need for more. Now, it was more. It was warm and fierce. And one kiss turned into a second kiss even more heartfelt. She felt his hands soothe down her back till they lingered on the low point of her spine, the slight pressure the hands made, sent a shudder of delight through her.

She drew a short breath, stood up on her toes and then she captured his lips in a third, warm kiss with her arms tightening around his middle, her own hands coming to rest on his spine.

He broke out in a happy smile when they finally drew apart, the expression in his eyes leaving her a tad winded. She smiled back, feeling equally happy.

"So?" Andy asked her, curiosity in his tone and the smile crooked.

"So?" she drew the word out, questioning even though she knew what he wanted clarified.

"Well, are we, you know, at that stage where we kiss goodnight, or is it … you know, more?"

She hid her smile as she looked down. She was still in his embrace, his hands loosely around her.

"I would like more," she smiled.

"More is good," he agreed with a goofy expression.

They should talk, she thought. They should talk seriously, and talk about what they both expected and what it actually meant to move entirely forward. But for once, she felt more inclined to let it flow into the background for a while. She wanted to kiss him again.

So, with another smile she leaned up and caught his lips in another breathtaking kiss.

…


End file.
